Lucidity
by The Sisters Williams
Summary: When a series of vivid nightmares and reality begin to collide for America, the nation is forced to question his own sanity. Especially when he realizes just who the dreams involve...
1. Chapter 1

Hello and welcome to my first (real) multichaptered fic! I even posted it on my birthday, to make it extra special.

I promisepromisepromise this one will get finished, and you won't be waiting months for updates. I hate it when people do that to me, so I've written a fair portion of this one ahead of time as a safety measure.

I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia. Sorry.

* * *

It was always the worst at night.

The thrashing. The yelling. The crying.

The nightly episodes had taken their toll on the nation. America's terrors were violent and painful to watch. The strong nation reduced to a convulsing mess of shakes and pleads and tears, sobbing as though his heart had been ripped from his chest and stolen, never to be seen again.

Fortunately, Alfred lived alone.

"No!" Alfred screamed, waking himself up with a mighty jolt that nearly toppled him off of his mattress. He sat upright at once, trembling as though he'd just watched the scariest of his movie collection.

The white sheets stuck to his sweaty, clammy skin as a breeze from the window caused him to shiver harder. He must have kicked off the heavy down comforter, he thought through his panic, as it was now lying unceremoniously in a soft blue puddle on the floor. He'd grab it in a second, Alfred promised himself. Just as soon as his heart stopped racing.

_Another dream, _the American cursed internally. He looked at his digital clock, sitting on the nightstand. The numbers flashed at him with an angry red glare. 1:32. _Too early_, he thought absently.

A few minutes passed. The occasional tear continued to roll unchecked down Alfred's face; the nation hardly noticed.

At 2:00, he felt composed enough to leave the haven of his bed; at least temporarily. He padded to his grand ensuite, taking a navy washcloth and soaking it with cool water.

Before he sponged his forehead, the nation glanced in the mirror.

Though he expected his face to be red from the crying, it was in fact as pale as it had ever been. Perhaps paler than it had ever been.

The area around his eyes was red from tears, of course, but his normally sky blue eyes seemed darker, though still bright with the threat of tears. He looked like..._someone_, he thought. Of course, like himself, but familiar in another way, too.

Sighing, Alfred mopped his warm forehead and raked a hand through his more-unruly-than-usual hair, attempting to make the blonde mop lie somewhat flatter than it was currently.

_Losing battle_. He soon gave up, shrugging and giving his reflection a wan grin.

He turned off the light and headed back into his bedroom, using the thin band of moonlight to pick his way across the various things strewn across his room. Instead of going back to bed, however, the American chose to sit on his tiny bedroom window bench. He wasn't much of a reader, and was even less likely to spend long periods of time deep in thought. The bench was very seldom used for anything other than a place to throw his bomber at the end of the day.

He carefully peeled back the sheer curtain, the lights of Washington D.C. meeting his gaze. He hoped that the sight of his beautiful capital could bring him some comfort tonight.

Instead, all he could do was muse about his dream. Strangely enough, though it had nearly brought America to hysterics, he couldn't recall a single detail of whatever he'd dreamed of. What on earth could draw such a reaction from him, night after night?

It would be a bit more bearable, he thought, if only he could _remember_.

* * *

_What a bright day_, Alfred thought to himself. In fact, it was unseasonably warm for the time of the year. Vancouver was known across the continent for its rain, not its blinding sunlight. The sunbeams reflecting off the glass skyscrapers bounced to light up the streets, making February in Vancouver look more like Phoenix in June. Alfred doubted he really needed his signature beaten up brown bomber on a day like today, but, truth be told, the nation felt naked without it.

He was glad he'd picked such a great time to visit the city. The American didn't mind snow too much; he just wasn't a big fan of the West Coast rain so prevalent in Washington state. _No, this is nice. Not too hot, not too cold._

Alfred pushed his way awkwardly through the bustling pedestrians exiting a nearby skytrain station. _Of course, morning rush hour_. The suits and skirts gave the time of day away if the brisk pace everyone seemed to be moving at didn't. It wasn't quite fast enough to be a run, yet definetly not as leisurely a speed as Alfred usually liked to walk.

_Funny_, he thought, it was though the pedestrians were moving as fast as was polite. _Strange people_.

Though he had meetings with the local senator that afternoon, the American had decided earlier to spend the day exploring. For some reason, he couldn't quite remember visiting this particular capital of his before. He knew he must have at some point, but he just couldn't picture it.

The bustling streets felt familiar somehow, but also a bit foreign, as though he were visiting Hawaii, or even Puerto Rico. _But this is a continental state_, he thought to himself, shaking his head slightly. _Oh well. Probably just didn't have enough coffee this morning_.

He wandered aimlessly, attempting to get his bearings in the morning light. However, every intersection, every street sign, every familiar building only served to confuse the nation further.

He was sure he recognized Vancouver.

The problem seemed to be he remembered it very differently.

The street he was on now, for instance. Alfred was certain he remembered it with large blue and green banners hanging from the streetlights.

The ornate stone building that held the senator's office. Wasn't that once an art gallery or theatre, something like that?

Didn't there used to be some kind of tree lining the street here? A birch, or maybe a maple?

Blood flushed to Alfred's face as his heart sounded in his ears. This strange version of deja vu was making him nauseous.

Stumbling a bit, the nation spotted a small wooden bench up ahead, shaded by a lovely, leafy tree. _Not empty, but it'll do_. Alfred attempted to hurry over without ruining the ornate cobbled sidewalk with his breakfast and managed to sit before the dizziness took him completely. Avoiding looking at his elderly benchmate, who had began to stare at him, he sighed and buried his head in his hands in an attempt to will the sudden vertigo away.

_Damn._ He'd been having such an awesome day, too.

Peeking out through his fingers, Alfred people-watched the busy Vancouverites. It was a crowded area, some kind of main artery for the many pedestrians, he figured. The bench happened to be right by a green space that seemed popular with the locals; at least it was that morning. He stared absently as a particularly large group flooded the area, drowning out the background in a sea of light winter apparel.

Suddenly, he sat up, attentive. A flash of gold in the midst of the swarm had caught Alfred's eye.

At first he thought it was simply the strange morning light, or his imagination, or both, simply playing tricks on him.

He saw another flash.

Then just a sliver of a glimpse of a face.

Just a fraction of a second was the look. Not enough for it to even fully register in Alfred's consciousness. All he knew was he'd seen that face before. And he really didn't know many people in this neck of the woods.

Curious, the American stood and began walking towards the crowd. He strode slowly at first, but a third glimpse of dark blonde spurred him to pick up the pace considerably. This time, Alfred shoved through the crowd less than politely in his rush; he ignored the disgruntled "hey"s left in his wake.

Alfred's pushing brought him eventually to the opposite side of the group. As the people cleared, the American scanned the area with his bright blue eyes, pushing Texas up on his nose. _Strange, where could he have gone?_

He chose to follow the pathway and soon found that it wrapped around a large nearby building. Already his impromptu search was proving rather fruitless. At least he was feeling better; the sudden distraction seemed to have cured Alfred's just as sudden vertigo.

Grinning in relief, he turned a corner and found himself surrounded by cherry blossom trees. It would normally be much too early for any blossoms to show, but the two months of spring temperatures appeared to have tricked the delicate branches into showing the first few pale pink flowers prematurely. They hung a canopy over Alfred's path and littered the ground, laying a carpet of petals in front of his feet.

America knew that these cherry blossoms weren't native to the West Coast. The stunning transplanted trees must have been a gift from Kiku, but Alfred couldn't quite remember the moment.

Through the screen of falling petals, a figure could be seen in the distance. Breaking from his reverie, Alfred watched the man turn left down what he assumed was a nearby alleyway. As the figure turned the sun hit his hair, creating for an instant a golden halo.

Alfred stared, unblinking. _That man...could it really be the same person as before?_ he wondered though he knew the answer.

_Yes_.

In a fluid motion, Alfred went from standing still to sprinting, skidding into the petals as he ran. He stopped short at the turn, staring into the alley. Though it wasn't a long distance to the spot where he'd last seen the mysterious man, the figure was nowhere to be seen. The only thing greeting Alfred down the narrow corridor was a cold, damp brick wall and a strange, sweet scent in the air.

"Hello?" the nation called down the path, just in case. His own voice was the only answer, sounding almost like a whisper as it bounced off of the high walls around him to echo back. Obviously, there was no one there; had never been.

_What in the world is going on with me?_

Alfred began to wander back to the downtown area, pausing only to ask a few passersby whether they'd seen the same figure, though privately he had already began to refer to the man as more of a spectre; his own personal apparition.

He had always believed in ghosts and the like; a fear that he had carried with him since his childhood. He had once believed in wendigos and forest spirits, as did the native people to his land. Instead of growing out of this, Alfred became more convinced of the existence of the supernatural, much to Arthur's chagrin. Other nations would scoff at his horror movie obsession, but few knew of the reasoning behind it.

Feeling shaky, Alfred turned away from the direction of his meeting and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed as he walked, heading towards the grey stone Fairmont hotel and his room.

The ornate copper roof, green with age, reminded him of another building, though he couldn't remember which. _Maybe something in Austria? _

Finally the line was answered. "Yes, hello Linda, this is Mr. Jones." Alfred moved with the herd across the busy intersection, nearly at the hotel lobby. "I'm calling to cancel my appointment this afternoon."

* * *

Just so you know, the first chapter is by far the lamest I've written. I swear it'll get better, just give me a chance!

But anyway, if you enjoyed it, and you feel like taking a moment out of your day and you feel like it, please review! Or favourite, those are lovely. Just a note: I'd like to say I take criticism well, but I have a spirit that is, alas, easily crushed, so please please please be gentle with your criticisms. .


	2. Chapter 2

Hello! Here's chapter 2 for you. It's up rather quickly because I kind of want to get the gist of the story started, but updates will probably be about once every 5 days or so. Thanks to those who reviewed/alerted/favourited etc. I hope this doesn't disappoint!

And a quick note: for the reviewer who asked, yup, I'm a Vancouverite. What can I say, I couldn't resist putting my city in there.

* * *

As the puck flew past him, all Alfred could do was watch in awe. The Swede had one of the most powerful slapshots the American had ever seen. The puck was little more than a dark blur as it whizzed towards Team Alfred's goal.

_Damn,_ he cursed wistfully. It would have been nice to win against Tino and Berwald for once. He didn't usually like playing with the duo due to their synchrony. The way the two-man team moved on ice made it almost seem as though they could read each other's minds.

Alfred nearly shut his eyes as the puck raced towards his somewhat petite goalie. A shot like that, at that speed, would be a difficult one for even a pro to spot and stop in time. The Scandinavian team had won, he was sure. _Well, at least it wasn't to Ivan._

The puck never made the net. Before the American had even realized what had happened, he had the disc and his goalie yelling at him to _go go go_! The goalie had dived just in time, deflecting the puck off of his stick towards the two person team's star forward before the other team had even realized they hadn't scored.

The blonde raced down the ice, stick in hand. Falling snowflakes stung at his unprotected eyes, clouding his less-than-perfect vision momentarily. Still, Alfred managed to dodge the menacing forward-turned-defenseman with some fancy all-American footwork and puck handling. Now, only one barrier remained between Alfred and the game. _Just one shot, that's all __I__ need._

Quickly, he shot the puck as hard as he could in the general direction of the net, hoping his reduced accuracy would be enough. He really, _really_ hated to lose.

Tino reached his glove up, trying to bat away the potential tiebreaker. Instead of falling back at the ice, however, the puck flew past his outstretched hand, sinking deep into the aged white netting as the Finn fell backwards.

"Goal!" Alfred sang in glee, throwing his stick into the air in his excitement. Berwald skated back into his team's zone to help Tino up, patting him on the back as he did so.

Calming down slightly, Alfred skated forward, removing his glove and offering his hand to his opponents. He may have enjoyed winning, but America made it a point to win graciously; at least, when he remembered. "Good game guys, you really had me worried there," he grinned.

"Y's, w'll, n'xt t'm w'nt be s' e'sy," Berwald countered good-naturedly. "Y'r g'lie, h' sav'd y' th' g'me." The tall man gave a nod to Team Alfred's other member, currently removing the nets from the metal goalposts.

"Nice shot, Alfred," Tino smiled wistfully. Alfred knew Finland also took losing hard, not that his team did it often. The nation did a good job of hiding it, however. Berwald noticed the hint of dejection in his 'wife's' voice and wrapped his arm around the smaller man in comfort.

"Nah, just blind luck," Alfred answered kindly, speaking only partially out of pity. "You'll get me next time, I'm sure. Half the time when we play you shut me out!"

"You Americans and your exaggerations," Tino laughed. "It was a good game though. Next time on our ice, yes?"

"You're on!" Alfred shook the Finn's hand for good measure.

The opposition began to skate over to Alfred's teammate for more congratulations. Instead of following, Alfred skated over to where he'd dropped his stick. Bending down, he picked it up, studying the worn wooden handle. He absently noticed some of the black tape around the blade was beginning to come undone.

Instead of standing immediately, Alfred remained crouched for a few seconds. Impulsively, he wound himself up and sprung into an impromptu victory lap.

As he raced around the frozen winter pond, the blonde marvelled at how well his skating had come along. Just a few winters ago the only ice time the American managed to rack up was largely spent with him on his derriere. Time after time he would go home and throw his skates near the door in a heap, swearing he'd never go near the cold, unyielding ice again. The aches and pains he always felt the morning after such a skate seemed to solidify the idea.

Yet here he was, nearly as confident on the smooth surface as he was in runners on a track. Despite his attempts to give up the sport and his laments about skating being too difficult, Alfred came back, time after time.

It felt _good_ to work at something. Everything came rather easily to the American, at least so it seemed. For him to struggle at something and slowly improve was a difficult lesson. However, the feeling Alfred felt when he finally excelled at hockey was incomparable. Though there were other sports he preferred, hockey would always hold a special place in his heart.

He might never be the best, as he was at so many other activities. Still, being able to do _his_ best while holding his own against some of the finest hockey nations in the world was enough for Alfred.

As the soft flakes falling increased in size and intensity, Alfred slowed to a stop in front of the hockey bag, now fully packed. His goalie sat ontop, resting his head on his hands.

"Hey, nice save back there," Alfred grinned sheepishly, realizing he'd ignored the other half of his team in the ten minutes since their win.

"Nice goal, eh?" his goalie replied good-naturedly, lifting the heavy helmet off of his head. Damp dark gold hair spilled out in waves, messy from their confinement. "Way to win us the game, hero," he half teased, violet-blue eyes alight from their win.

Alfred ruffled the smaller man's hair, causing him to shy away and pull out a red tuque. He jammed it haphazardly on his head, waves still peeking out from underneath to frame his face.

"Hey, you're my hero today. I thought for sure we'd lost it." Alfred shook his head, gazing at his teammate. "I could barely see the puck, let alone have stopped it. You were amazing."

The dark blonde blushed slightly at that, though his fair face was already flushed from the bitter wind. "That little shot? Jones, you've gotta learn to have some faith in me, eh? I know what I'm doing." He grinned and threw his arm around the American. "Don't worry about what's behind you, Alfred. I'll be there, looking out for you."

Grinning, Alfred clasped his shoulder in thanks before they both stood up. America heaved the heavy, well-worn hockey bag onto his back as the other man carried their hockey sticks. Together, Team Alfred began the long walk back home in the December weather.

There was a fair distance between the pond/hockey rink and the safety of the warm cabin. Unfortunately, that afternoon the farther they travelled, the more the wind seemed to pick up, though they pushed ahead. Alfred did have an excellent sense of direction, after all. Still, the wind and snow continued to blow, making progress more and more difficult as time passed.

Eventually, Alfred had to admit that they had unwittingly found themselves in the midst of an early snowsquall.

_Damn, I can't see a thing! _The American tried to clean the wet snow from his lenses, but when he put Texas back on, there was no discernible difference. Alfred stared at his gloved hand, slowly extending it from right in front of his face to as far as his arm stretched. After eight inches or so, it was no more than a dark outline.

The wind howled and echoed in a multitoned voice as it blew loose snow from nearby drifts into the boys' faces along with fresh snow. Alfred reached out for his partner, hoping to feel what he could no longer see. He grasped; only wind and snow greeted his touch.

_Damnit_! he swore internally. How could he expect to find someone in _this_ storm? The conditions were nearly whiteout. His unruly blonde hair stuck to his head, making him regret wearing just the pair of red and blue earmuffs for head protection.

Running out of options, he shouted the name as loud as he could. As before, only the wind and snow cared enough to answer. Alfred wasn't surprised; he couldn't even hear his own voice against the howling.

Desperate, the American heard a slight break in the unrelenting gales and screamed the name again, hoping against hope for some kind of response.

Nothing.

But he was so _small_, Alfred thought in panic. He may claim the snow was his home, but America doubted his friend could actually survive these conditions. _No._ Alfred couldn't give up.

Gathering his quickly sapping strength, Alfred yelled again, ripping his throat raw as he stumbled, desperately searching for footprints, any footprints. Finding none.

_No. NO_.

___

Alfred shot up from his resting position, the name still on his lips.

His cheeks were flushed and streamed with salty tears.

The pillow he had been resting his head on was soaked with the same tears, causing the normally bright blue to dampen to a darker navy with moisture.

His throat was raw and his voice seemed hoarse, though the American was loath to use it.

_Oh god, how could I ever forget_? he screamed inside. He could feel his heart thundering, nearly shattering with every beat.

_My...brother._

_Mattie._

* * *

Heh...well there's chapter 2. Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

Hello, and here's chapter 3. Thanks to everyone reading, I appreciate the views :D

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia. Obviously.

* * *

"Finally, the unemployment rate has been steadily dropping at a rate of three percent over the last eighteen months," the Englishman stated confidently from the head of the room. "I feel that this is enough evidence to show that my plan for coming back from the recession is, in fact, the most successful one." Satisfied, he crossed his arms and prepared for the regular onslaught of criticism from his 'allies'.

"_Mais Angleterre_, I have an even lower unemployment rate, _non_?" France countered with a toss of his light blonde hair. "Perhaps you should instead follow my plan," he said with a somewhat condescending smile for his old friend.

"You call drinking wine and sleeping employment, you wine-bastard!" Arthur yelled as he rushed forward to throttle his rival. Luckily for the direction of the meeting before his hands met Francis he ran into something soft.

And cold.

And huge.

"Let's get on with the meeting, _da_?" Russia ordered more than asked, putting his large gloved hands on the short man's shoulders. "I would like to hear more." Firmly, he turned Arthur around so he was in the direction he'd come from and gave him a not-so-gentle push forward. The gentleman stood in shock for a moment before nearly sprinting back to his place at the front.

"Uh, anyway, any questions?" he asked shakily as he fought to regain his composure. Seeing no hands, England continued.

"I mean, it's a more successful program than most. More effective than those applied in Asia, and certainly more than America's attempt." At that, Arthur glanced towards his much younger brother, expecting him to jump up and defend his ailing economy with gusto before declaring that heroes didn't need surpluses or something equally as deranged.

Alfred just sat in place, staring at his hands.

_How strange_, Arthur thought to himself. Clearing his throat, he added to his comment. "Of course, America shouldn't be expected to present a satisfactory plan as he was so influential in getting us into the damn recession in the first place!" _A little harsh, but that should get a rise out of him_, he thought as he turned towards the blonde.

His words just bounced off the American, who may as well have not heard at all.

"America~," Italy poked his neighbour, " aren't you going to say anything, ve~?"

At the physical contact, Alfred started from his reverie. He glanced around quickly, as if seeing the crowded meeting room for the first time, before sitting up straight on his chair and straightening his glasses. "Yes, of course. Igg-I mean, England, it was your choice to follow my economic style," he began confidently. "I can't help it if I'm popular. You live like a rock star, you die like one, am I right? Is it my fault you guys couldn't figure out your own systems and instead chose to follow my own awesomeness?" he asked with a confident smirk that didn't quite reach his sky blue eyes. "No, it isn't," he answered before anyone else could, "so how about enough with the cracks at me, England?"

The nations stared at the young man, shocked into silence, though by his words or his sudden recovery, one couldn't tell.

Alfred grabbed at the small group of papers sitting in front of him, banging the end lightly on the table to gather them into a neat stack. "Anyway, other than that Iggy's plan sounds good so meeting adjourned," he said rapidly without pausing for punctuation. At that America jumped to his feet and rushed out the door, leaving it swinging in his wake.

___

An hour or so later, England felt he was about to go crazy.

He'd spent the last 45 minutes attempting to locate Alfred. After that strange exit and his melancholy state during the majority of the meeting, Arthur thought it best that someone talk to the normally hyperactive nation.

Unfortunately, he drew the short straw.

Now, Arthur was about ready to give up. It felt as though he'd checked every cramped room on this floor already, twice. _He sure can hide_, the nation thought grimly as he shoved open yet another heavy door. He scanned the darkened room quickly and began to close the door before he heard a familiar voice.

"Is someone there?" a choked voice whispered from a corner.

_So much for searching thoroughly_, Arthur quietly berated himself, spying at last his younger brother. Alfred sat huddled on the floor, holding his knees tightly to his chest.

The nation looked, for lack of a better word, _spook__e__d__._ His hair was even mote disheveled than usual; Arthur guessed this was from Alfred running his hands through it, as his left hand was currently buried in the gold locks.

Arthur sighed and sat down beside him, leaning his back up against the cold wall as he attempted to make himself comfortable without hopelessly creasing his suit. Turning, he met Alfred's eyes; locking blue with green. "So what is exactly troubling you, lad?"

Alfred seemed to debate with himself before finally answering. "Iggy, do you believe in..._ghosts_?" he nearly choked on the last word, blushing as he said it.

_Ghosts, eh_? Arthur mused. The words may have sounded foolish to other nations, but England was well-acquainted with the supernatural himself. What with his regular menagerie of fairies and sprites, ghosts were certainly not a far stretch for Arthur to believe in.

Of course, he never talked about his experiences to other nations. Ever since one particularly nasty encounter with Francis in their youth, he'd pretty much given up the possibility of his allies ever understanding his gift.

Typically, Arthur would chastise Alfred for watching too many horror movies. However, the nation seemed genuinely disturbed. Maybe he could help, just a little.

"I don't know, Alfred. Maybe." The shorter blonde shrugged. "I wouldn't go so far as to say they certainly _don't _exist."

Alfred stirred, moving his legs so they lay straight in front of him instead of crunched up. "Well, lately I'm subscribing to the 'do exist' group. I've...been having some weird dreams lately."

_Well, that explains a few things._ Arthur had noticed Alfred had seemed fatigued as of late. Dark circles were just visible under his eyes, contrasting oddly with his tanned face.

Alfred continued, not really allowing for interruption. "I was in Vancouver last week. Just killing time, walking around downtown, you know? And I swear, I saw someone." His voice gained strength and speed as he continued his story. "He looked familiar, so I tried to follow him. Just to try and get a better look. So he went down this alley, and I went after him. And he just _disappeared._"

The other man sat in silence, as Arthur didn't quite know what to say to that. He hadn't had an experience like that in all his years, and he had certainly had some experiences. But he had to say _something, _he'd stayed quiet too long. Awkwardly, he reached out to Alfred's hand. "Look, lad, it's probably just-"

"And then I dreamed of him, Arthur." Alfred's intense whisper somehow managed to startle his friend.

"What was the dream about?" Arthur asked, slightly timid.

The question seemed to take the American by surprise. Alfred had expected his brother to shrug it off, or tell him that it was merely his imagination running away with him, as it had so many times before. After a few moments America answered, though he seemed unsure of his reply. "We were...outside, I think. Playing something on ice. Hockey, maybe. We won, whatever it was, and we started walking home, wherever that was."

So far, Arthur was unimpressed. Besides hearing of Alfred playing hockey and _winning_ (honestly, that really wasn't the American's sport) nothing seemed too strange. "So, what happened next, Alfred?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Something weird happened. A snowstorm or some other-no, it was a snowstorm." he corrected himself. "It came out of _nowhere_. I couldn't see my hands in front of me. And," at this Alfred buried his face in his hands, "I lost him. He _died_, Iggy. Because of me."

_Oh. _Arthur didn't know what to do other than awkwardly put his arm around the grieving nation. He marvelled at the strong reaction he was seeing the dream bring out in his normally rather insensitive younger brother.

He let Alfred mourn his dream friend, staying silent save the occasional comforting word. Eventually the American composed himself and sat up against the wall, pose mirroring Arthur's.

"Iggy, did I ever have another brother?" he asked tentatively.

_Another brother? What a strange question_. Of course there wasn't; Arthur felt he would have remembered something so important. Though, as Arthur began actually thought about it, his memory seemed to call out at him. Maybe there really could have been another child like Alfred. As he gazed at America, he could almost picture the boy. _Blonde too, but small. His...twin?_

_Oh, _Arthur was hit with realization. _Matthew._

"Yes, actually. At least, I _think_ so." It was so difficult to rack his brain for details. He would have had an easier time answering what he'd dreamed of three weeks ago. "He was one of us..._Ka-na-tuh_ or something similar to that."

_Yes_, Alfred thought, _that sounded right_. Except: "Canada. That was his name."

_Yes._ "Matthew was Canada." Arthur smiled; he was able to remember a bit more now. "He was above you, lad. You were neighbours."

Alfred turned to face Arthur again, more questions ready. "What happened to him, Iggy? Why can't I remember? And why am I suddenly seeing him now?" Alfred looked so distraught, Arthur thought; he wished he had more to tell him.

"Alfred, I honestly can't remember any more than you can. I think he just...disappeared. I can remember he was the quiet type. Kind of the opposite of you, really."

_How horrible. _Alfred would have been devastated if he died and no one could be bothered to remember.

Seeing the disappointment evident on Alfred's face, Arthur tried to think of a satisfactory answer to the rest of his question. As he pondered, he was struck with an idea. _Oh, that makes sense,_ he realized. "Alfred, you gained Canada after Matthew's dea...well, Vancouver was a Canadian city. I would wager that being around Canada-_ites,"_ (_or whatever the devil they're called_) "compounded with your sleep issues, might have made you especially susceptible to Matthew's spirit, if that is what this is."

"Maybe," Alfred replied, mulling the idea over. He couldn't get off of the fact that he'd completely forgotten his brother. Why couldn't he remember?

How could he get the memories back?

* * *

So there's the next chapter. I know it might be a bit confusing, but please try and stick with me. I hope you enjoyed it. I'm a bit of a nervous writer so if you see a few mistakes, it's because I kind of get embarrassed when I reread my stories, so proofreading sometimes isn't as thorough as it could be.


	4. Chapter 4

Hello! Thanks a lot for all the reviews last chapter, I really, really appreciate them and I'm happy you're enjoying the story so far. A couple of you mentioned that you felt I was under reviewed, but honestly, I'm very happy with the ones I have. I'm just glad people actually like this.

This chapter is a bit longer than the last. In fact, the chapters get longer from here on out, but I don't think that'll be much of an issue :D

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia. Unfortunately.

* * *

The rhythmic sound of the oars dipping into the water was beginning to lull Alfred to sleep. He could feel his heavy eyelids beginning to droop in response. _Too bad the sun is so bright_, he grumbled internally before turning away from the interference and scrunching his bomber up for use as a makeshift pillow.

A few minutes later, something cold and wet splashed into America's face, effectively ruining the best nap he'd had in years.

_Salt_, he tasted. _Yuck_. Alfred opened an eye in annoyance, trying to spot the cause of the disturbance so he could yell at whatever it was and then go back to sleep.

Instead, only his twin grinned back at him. "I'm sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, Al, but it's your turn to row. Unless you'd rather not?" Matthew raised an eyebrow and an oar, ready to splash more water on his brother if need be.

Alfred sat up groggily, rubbing his face free of the irritating ocean water. Reluctantly he took the paddle of the oar Canada held, flipping it over so he now grasped the handle. Matt gave him the other before carefully stepping over him, rocking the small boat only lightly.

"Here, Alfred," he said as he handed over a bottle of sunscreen after pouring a small amount into his own hand. "You were starting to burn anyway. Wouldn't want a lobster for a hero."

_Doesn't he know better than to bother me right after I wake up?_ Alfred tried to be sulky, but it was hard after seeing the huge smile on the Canadian's face. He looked as though they were sailing to paradise instead of rowing around in a Newfoundland cove.

Canada rubbed the lotion into his pale skin thoroughly before removing his hat. "It's too gusty», he explained. As though to prove his point a gale of wind blew by, whipping the burnished blonde hair around his face and covering his violet eyes temporarily. Instead of brushing it away, Matthew faced into the wind so it blew away from him in a short trail of rippling gold.

Alfred held onto his baseball hat with one hand, but the tight had stayed firmly jammed on his head. Still, he held on to his Yankees cap until the wind died again. The hat had sentimental value; he would have hated to lose it to Canadian waters.

"Is it much farther, Mattie?" Alfred asked, just a hint of whining in his voice. " Because, I have to tell you, my arms are beginning to feel like spagh-"

"Just over here", Canada interrupted, pointing to a sheltered area slightly to the left. "I've always had good luck here."

Soon, the brothers had set up anchor and were baiting their hooks. Alfred privately doubted the fishing up here was as better than his as Mattie had sworn to him it was, but the American was willing to give it a try.

___

An hour later, Alfred was slowly on his way to being proven correct.

Not a single bite in a whole hour. Not even a nibble.

It was difficult to see far below the surface of the greenish-blue Atlantic, but Alfred wouldn't have been surprised if there was no fish for miles.

Still, he was enjoying himself. _After all_, he reasoned, _fishing is only half about the fish. The rest is about the time spent together_. He glanced over at his fishing partner, smiling softly to himself.

In the last hour, the conversation had turned from trivial subjects to deeper thoughts. Alfred had unloaded some of his stresses on his brother, even going as far as to ask advice on his current economic situation. Matthew had been an eager listener, though hadn't been able to offer much advice Alfred hadn't heard before. The American was grateful just the same.

"You know, it must be difficult to be _you_," he'd remarked later, absently. "You know, to have all eyes on you, all the time. Everyone wanting your help, but also rooting for you to fail at the same time."

Alfred had looked at his brother, shocked. "Yes, exactly!" _Wow, pretty intuitive for such a small nation_, he thought, not unkindly. "But you don't feel that way, do you, Mattie?" he asked, actually feeling somewhat nervous about his answer.

Matthew thought for a moment before replying carefully. " I won't say that I always _agree_ with you or what you do. Sometimes I feel absolutely invisible next to you. However," Canada held up a hand to stop his brother from interrupting, "I'm never rooting for you to fail, Alfred. You may do stupid things sometimes, but you have a great heart."

With that, he placed his hand over the American's heart, feeling it beat. "And that, America, is something I can believe in."

Just now, Matthew was leaned up against America, napping slightly. The occasional strand of orange-blond hair tickled Alfred's hair in the light breeze, reminding him of the Canadian's closeness. Instead of being annoyed, Alfred rather liked the contact. For some reason his chest gave a little jump whenever he glanced at the sleeping nation. He just looked so _cute_, with his long eyelashes fluttering occasionally, causing America's heart to flutter along with them.

He placed his fishing rod in his right hand, wrapping his left arm around the smaller man to pull him closer. Matthew stirred slightly at the new contact but didn't wake.

Alfred simply gazed at the East Coast scenery, relaxing more completely than he had in years. In Alfred's spare time he enjoyed drawing, though he was never sure just how good he really was as he'd never shown another nation. He studied the rocky craigs towards the shore with a painter's eye. He would have sketched them himself with the pad and pencil in his bag, if his hands weren't already better occupied.

A clicking, spinning noise to his left captured Alfred's attention. Mattie sat up at once, jumping to his secured rod. "I-I've got a bite!" he exclaimed, suddenly alert and very awake. His pale cheeks were flushed pink with excitement.

"Yes, you sure do!" Alfred replied, chuckling slightly at the Canadian's sudden exuberance. _A big one, too,_ he thought, if the arc of the bending rod were anything to go by. Though Alfred's pole was a sturdy but flexible fibreglass, Matthew insisted on using a wooden version Alfred was certain would be more at home in an antique store than out on the ocean. America hoped the rod wouldn't splinter under the pressure, but he wouldn't have bet on the outcome.

Matthew was reeling like a pro, giving slack no more than necessary. To Alfred's surprise, a few splashes kicked up a few feet from the flimsy craft.

"You-you've nearly got him, Matt," he stared in awe. His tiny brother, up against a fish that looked as though it came out of a weathered sea man's fantasies.

The Canadian, strained with the work, managed to gasp out a response. "Yes, Al. Maybe you could give me a hand, eh?"

_Oh. Right_. Alfred rushed behind the Canadian, grasping the wooden fishing pole firmly as Matt took charge of the actual reeling. He was careful not to use his superhuman strength as he pulled, knowing that too much tension would snap the pole. He figured the Canadian didn't really want that kind of help.

Ten minutes of steady work and both brothers were exhausted from the effort of pulling the behemoth fish aboard their rowboat. Still, the giant splashed enticingly, spurring them on.

"Just...one...last...pull!" Alfred grunted as he yanked up hard on the pole. Instead of hearing the fish fly out of the water, the friends heard a very different sound.

A sickening sound.

_Crack._

With a splash, the majority of the aged fishing rod flew into the water, leaving the brothers with a stick of a handle clutched in their hands as they fell backwards from the release, nearly topping the boat. The remainder of the pole zoomed out to sea, carried no doubt by a very large fish with a new lease on life.

Alfred stared at the stick in horror. _Uh oh._

Not only had he lost them the fish, but he'd broken Matthew's prized fishing rod along the way. _No way he'll be pleased about this_, he thought glumly.

He glanced at the smaller man now in his arms from their fall. Mattie was also staring at the stick, though the expression in his violet-blue eyes was unreadable.

Alfred tensed, expecting the worst. "I'm sorry, Mattie! I shouldn't have pulled like that! I should have waited for you but I really wanted to be the one to catch that damn-"

"Alfred. Stop." Canada turned so he was facing him, silencing America's apologies with a hand to his mouth.

Then the Canadian started to laugh.

___

After the big fish debacle, the brothers jointly decided it was time to begin heading back to shore. Though Alfred had offered to row the entire way to make up for the fish, Matthew had simply waved his help away.

"After all, we both were trying to catch it. We both lost it," he'd mediated. Alfred appreciated the kindness, though he knew the truth.

Tired from their brilliant angling exploits, Alfred had set himself towards recreating his earlier napping experience. However, after about a half hour of trying to get comfortable, he gave up and put his bomber back on in frustration.

He shuddered as a cold gust blew, spraying him with light mist. _Why did I take my _leather _jacket out on the water?_ he asked himself while cursing his stupidity.

He glanced over to Canada. He couldn't remember if the other nation had brought any warmer clothing. _He's so shrimpy; he must be cold._

To his surprise, the Canadian was looking flushed and out of breath. The rowing seemed to be taking its toll on the nation. Alfred looked backwards to check the distance to shore, though as he did, more mist blew up in his face.

_Damn. The wind._ The shore, instead of getting closer, was only getting farther and farther away. He glanced back at his brother who was rowing with determination, though he couldn't entirely hide his panic.

"Matt, let me take over," Alfred offered. The Canadian gladly exchanged places, huffing slightly from the effort. America began to row as fast as he could, but each wave only took them farther away from their goal. Still, he rowed on.

Alfred didn't notice the rain for a long time. The droplets of sea water that had splashed up already coated Texas, so it was only when he heard the first rumble of thunder that he realized the downpour they were about to receive.

The drops hit hard, creating puddles on the floor of the rowboat. Matthew was on his knees, searching for something, though Alfred wasn't quite sure what.

"Here, take this," he yelled over the noise, tossing a bulky orange item his way before turning back to his search.

Alfred dropped an oar to grab it. _A life jacket. Oh, good idea_. Before he could put it on, however, a large Atlantic wave struck their flimsy craft, drenching the two. Alfred placed the jacket between his knees and scrambled for his oars, attempting to row through the next one cresting to the right.

"Alfred! Now!" Matthew screamed, barely audible over the storm.

America shook his head, casting water in an arc around him. "I will in a sec. I'm gonna get us out of this, Mattie, I promise." _Though I don't know how_, he added internally.

"No, Jones, _now_", Canada demanded, grabbing the vest and pulling it over the American's head firmly. To Alfred's shock, he saw the matching orange vest lying on the far bench of the rowboat.

Alfred opened his mouth in anger, about to shout for the Canadian to put on his own damn life jacket. No words came out.

Salt water came in.

It was so quiet underwater, Alfred mused. What contrast to the maelstrom of weather above. He had felt his unsecured life jacket slip up over his head; he assumed it now was somewhere above him.

Alfred looked up. Though he'd lost Texas in the capsizing, he could still see a blurry outline of the boat. An orange blob was above as well, slightly to his right. He assumed he should try swimming for that.

He looked below as he kicked up, feeling as though he were moving in slow motion. His baseball cap was there, sinking into the depths. Alfred figured his spectacles were there too, just deeper due to their weight.

A flash of gold caught his eye.

Matthew was in the distance, maybe thirty feet from him. His hair floated around him, an eerie look when mixed with his skin, which glowed ghoulishly green in the ocean water to give the illusion of a corpse. The violet eyes were half closed in his unconscious state. The man sank slowly, appearing almost suspended in the murky light.

_Mattie!_ his heart cried out as his lungs awoke and screamed for air. Still, his feet tried to propel him to his brother. Unfortunately it seemed as though the harder he tried, the further away Canada became.

Suddenly Alfred's head broke the surface. At once he was broken from the aquatic dimension below as he gasped, taking in breath after misty breath as he tried to stay afloat.

The orange life vest miraculously floated nearby. America swam for it as fast as he could, using a smaller wave to propel him most of the distance. When he reached the tiny orange island he clutched at it desperately. His hands found a small plastic whistle, which he rose to his lips and blew as hard as he could.

_Maybe he can hear it. Maybe he woke up and swam for it. Maybe he has the other jacket now. Maybe...maybe..._ Alfred hoped, praying at least one would be answered.

Another large wave appeared in the distance; a twin to the one that capsized Canada's rowboat. As it towered over him, Alfred prepared himself as best as he could, curling around the lifejacket.

It hit like a ton of bricks, and Alfred found himself without his whistle and once again in the strange underwater world for a few fleeting seconds before he was buoyed up by his life vest.

He scanned the waters as he broke the surface, hoping for any sign of his brother. Without his whistle, all he could do was yell.

"Mattie!" he screamed, throat sore with salt water.

As another wave rolled up, the North American cried out for his other half.

"Mattie!"

___

"Mattie!" Alfred screamed, tears once again rolling down his face.

Tonight, he'd woken up on the floor.

_This was the worst one yet_, he thought shakily as he got to his feet.

The ocean. One of his oldest fears was being lost at sea, with nothing but miles of water around, above and below him.

Of course, the panic he'd felt in his dream was nothing compared with the pain of losing his brother.

Again.

_Why __can't I remember?_

_Why couldn't I save him? _

_

* * *

_

Note: I know the story hasn't progressed much; it is kind of a slow one and I hope you'll just enjoy the ride. It isn't exactly a fast-paced one, but that's why 'Action' isn't one of my tags.

Thanks so much for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia

* * *

"Al, you have to slow down!" Canada whispered sharply as he pleaded from his passenger seat. "Those speed signs you're ignoring say 'kilometres', not '_miles_'!"

His words fell onto deaf ears. Alfred merely shoved his foot down harder on the accelerator, enjoying the appreciative growl of the motor's reply.

"Relax, Mattie," Alfred looked over at his white-knuckled brother, grinning. "It's Saskalachun or whatever. Nothing but wheat. What am I really gonna hit?"

America got the distinct feeling his brother would have punched him if his hands weren't welded to the dashboard, holding on for dear life. "First of all,_ America,_ it's called S_askatchewan_," he hissed, not at all amused. "Second, seeing as this is a province of mine and not some abandoned personal _autobahn _of yours, there are other people using the roads. People less insane than you." Matthew exhaled sharply. "I'd like to keep my reasonable citizens alive, if you don't mind."

_He really seems pissed_, Alfred thought, catching a glance of Matthew's cold violet-blue glare. Sighing, he eased up on the gas, slowing the vehicle to a more reasonable speed, though still managing to beat the speed limit by a wide margin. "Fine. You win."

"But I never win," Matthew said in shock as he found he was able to actually see the fenceposts flying past the passenger window.

Apparently Matt could sense America's disappointment. "You'll thank me one day, Al," the Canadian grinned wryly as he clasped Alfred's shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah," Alfred muttered as he switched on the windshield wipers. "You and Arthur. You're definitely cut from the same cloth, you know," he grumbled as the wipers began to clear the evidence of insects the American had splattered on his joyride.

"I know what you mean by that, and I won't respond to it," Canada joked. Though the younger brother had few problems with England, he knew of America's frequent rebellions in his youth and general disdain for the nation's fastidious nature. "I'm sorry, Alfred," he said a few moments later, soberly. "Maybe I'm just being cautious, but still. Better safe than sorry, right?"

"Yep. Wouldn't want to be arrested by a Mountie, right?" his brother replied with a smirk. Matt simply rolled his eyes.

"I'm not going over this with you again, Al. You know they don't usually we-"

"Wear red, yeah, I know. Just teasing you."

"Better to wear serges occasionally than wear a cowboy hat as part of the regular uniform."

"Hey! There's nothing wrong with the uniform of my troopers!"

"Not at all, if they were still rounding up outlaws on horseback."

"Shut up." Alfred play-sulked. He'd forgotten how fun mock-arguing with his brother could be. Though he usually forgot about his Canadian ally when he wasn't actually with him, Alfred really did enjoy their time together. Mattie was actually pretty cool, when Alfred actually thought about it.

"Whatcha thinking of?" the Canadian asked just then, breaking the silence that had been passing. _Great timing_, Al cursed. It wasn't as though he really wanted to get all sappy. "I mean, you look like you're thinking of something. Though," Matthew continued, a hint of a smirk appearing on his face, "knowing you it could be nothing."

"Oh, nice," Alfred replied in mock hurt as he clutched at his breast with his right hand. "You wound me, Mattie. And to think, I was just thinking of how much I was enjoying today."

After a few moments without a response Alfred glanced over at his passenger, thinking perhaps he'd fallen asleep.

Instead, he saw a ghost of a smile on Canada's face. "Really?" Matt whispered, eyes bright with excitement. "Because I was worried, you know. You're always so busy, and we go so long between visits. I love spending time with you, but I was worried you were only here because you felt like you had to be." The Canadian looked down slightly, smile faltering.

_Ouch_. Alfred wouldn't deny that spending time with Matthew wouldn't usually make his top ten list of fun things to do, but that wasn't really Canada's fault. America usually...forgot about his closest ally. _Not any longer_, Alfred promised, seeing the hidden hurt behind the joy in Matt's eyes. He hadn't had this much fun in he didn't know how long. "Really, Mattie. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."

America's huge grin spread across Canada's face. "Thanks, Alfred."

The American could feel his heart leap in response, causing his face to flush. He turned his eyes back to the road, trying not to let Matt see his reaction.

"You okay?" Canada asked, concern echoing in his voice. _Too late_.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Alfred tried to act convincingly. He accelerated slightly, trying to let the speed clear his head.

The Canadian leaned forward, indigo eyes full of worry. "No, you look kind of flushed. Do you have a fever or something?" Distracted, Alfred couldn't help but watch Matthew's lips form the words as he raised a pale hand to America's forehead.

Unconsciously, he leaned forward towards the other man. He reluctantly managed to stutter out a response in an attempt to ease his brother's fear. "Matt, it's really fine. You should sit back do-"

But before he could finish his sentence, the air was painfully forced from his lungs in a sudden seize, leaving his lips to uselessly form the remaining words with no sound. And then he was on top of Canada, and then Canada was on top of him, and then again. Over and over they collided in a painful mess of glass and airbags and limbs as the car rolled for what seemed like hours before stopping with an earsplitting jolt.

An accident. He'd hit something, probably some damn fencepost. What else was there in Saskatchewan, anyway?

The passenger door was the new floor. Shattered glass lay around Alfred, catching the afternoon light.

He could smell the rotten scent of gasolene. Another fragrance hung in the air too, metallic and sharp to his nose. Alfred preferred not to think of the cause.

_Shit_. His arm was broken. He couldn't quite feel the pain yet due to the adrenaline he felt running through his body, but he felt strongly that no limb should hang quite on that particular angle.

_Oh god._

Where was Canada?

Alfred's heart sank when he looked to the bloodied mess still strapped into the passenger seat. He tried to undo his own seat belt with his undamaged arm, but the panic made his fingers clumsy, and the blood made them slick.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alfred felt a flash of recognition. Some kind of _d__eja vu_, maybe. Frustrated, he pushed the thought aside as the belt finally gave away, allowing him to slide down to where his brother was hopefully still struggling for life.

"Mattie?" he whispered, careful not to disturb the unconscious nation too much as he turned his head towards the windshield. A thin trail of blood flowed out of his mouth as the pink lips that had so captivated Alfred before laid slack and inanimate.

He placed a few fingers on his brother's blood-smeared neck, checking for a pulse. Unfortunately, the pounding of his own heart in his ears made it impossible to concentrate. Desperate, Alfred gingerly lifted up one of Matthew's eyelids, looking for any sign of life. A dull purple iris stared emptily back at the nation.

"Come on, Mattie, you've gotta wake up," the American pleaded, hoping for a miracle and knowing there wouldn't be one. Still, he tried. Brushing back some of the soft blonde strands covering Matt's face, Alfred pressed his lips to the nation's still warm forehead, trying to somehow pass some of his luck onto his brother.

No response.

"Wake up, Canada. Come on, I know you're still there," he whispered, tears beginning to form. Alfred tried to hold them back, smiling slightly as his voice wobbled. "Wake up, for me?"

He knew it was too late, but he had to keep going. Alfred clutched the body to him, pressing the cooling skin against his own.

"Please, Mattie. You can't die."

"Bloody _hell_, America! Just what in blazes are you trying to do, kill us all?"

Alfred didn't reply. Instead he leaned forward over the steering wheel, staring unblinkingly out the windshield. His foot was pressed firmly on the break pedal, where he had stomped on it seconds before.

In the back seat France and China sat, still attempting to catch their breaths from the much too sudden stop. England had claimed shotgun earlier, and was just about to continue his rant when he took a good look at his former ward.

America looked as though he'd just seen a ghost. His bright blue eyes were now anxiously scanning the intersection he'd halted in, ignoring the agitated honks from behind him.

_Not again,_ Arthur sighed to himself. _Damn._ And they were in Montreal, too. Plenty of Canadians around. He should have known better.

"Look, lad," he said kindly, placing a hand over the white-knuckled one currently grasping the steering wheel, "why don't you let me drive?" Wordlessly, Alfred nodded and began to undo his seatbelt before exiting the vehicle. Arthur slid over to the drover's seat.

"But _Angleterre_, you don't know how to drive properly here. You can barely drive correctly when you're on the left side of the road, _oui_?"

"Shut up, you bloody frog!"

"It's no different! And if you hadn't drank so much wine at that damned meeting, then i wouldn't have to do this." Arthur glared at the blonde in back before turning his attention to the vehicle. _Now, how exactly does this go?_

Alfred walked slowly to the passenger side door, looking around carefully. England noticed him quickly scan underneath the car too before opening the door and sliding into his seat, a confused expression on his face.

_Time to go back to the hotel_, Arthur thought grimly.

* * *

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. I know it's slightly repetitive, but hopefully you're enjoying the relationship development, even if it is at the expense of a slower plot.


	6. Chapter 6

Hello! Here's Chapter 6 for you. Just so you're aware, originally this and Ch 5 were one, but it got waaaaaay too long. So it still might be a bit repetitive. BUT I SWEAR this is progressing the storyline. Though not too many of you seem too concerned with my snail's pace, so I won't agonize too much over it. Please enjoy!

To my lovely reviewers: I'd just like to say how much I really appreciate each one. I try not to take not getting reviews too personally because I've known a lot of good stories that haven't many, but it really does make my day to know that there are people out there who seriously like my writing. EGOBOOST. I'm just happy to feel accepted :D

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia. SORRY.

* * *

"Look, it's a bald eagle!" Alfred exclaimed, gesturing excitedly at a branch of a nearby Douglas fir.

"Shh, you'll scare it away," Matthew whispered, but it was too late. The eagle took to the skies, soaring somewhere beyond sight of the hiking trail.

Alfred gazed in awe. "See how majestic it is? Just beautiful."

Matt looked over in surprise, unused to hearing the American speak with much depth. "Yeah, Alfred, it really is."

"It figures that I'd choose something that awesome as my national symbol."

Alfred could almost hear the sound of Canada's eyes rolling. "I'm pretty sure I have more actual bald eagles than you do. I don't know how American that really makes them."

"You're just jealous because you have something much less awesome. What is it, some muskrat or something?"

"A _beaver_, Alfred. It's a beaver. And shut up," he said good-naturedly as he saw his brother's smirk. "For the record, I wasn't really on board with that decision."

Alfred slung his arm around Matthew, mindful of his hiking pack. "It's okay, Mattie. We'll just call the bald eagle the _North_ American symbol too."

"Uh huh, and have it look like you own the whole continent? I don't think so," the smaller blonde retorted as he took off his backpack and began to search through it. Alfred's arm slid off, falling to his side. "Here." Matthew thrust a stainless steel water bottle into the American's hand.

"Thanks." America unscrewed the cap and drank a good amount of the cool water, letting some dribble down his chin. He was too hot anyway, he figured. Nearly draining the bottle, he screwed the cap back on and tossed it high to his brother, who just managed to grasp the container with the tips of his fingers.

Canada shook the bottle and heard small splashes echoing inside against the metal. "Thanks yourself, you nearly drank it all," he groaned. "How did you manage to finish two litres of water just like that?"

_Two litres? Stupid metric system. Is that a lot?_ Alfred could hear the water sloshing uncomfortably in his stomach in reply. _Oh_. "Sorry, Matt," he said sheepishly. "There's a stream down there, I think," the American pointed to the bottom of the gully beside the trail, "I'll go get some more water."

"In those shoes?" Canada gestured towards Alfred's worn-out old runners. "You'll never make it back up. Don't worry, I'm not upset. I'll be right back." The shorter blonde dropped his pack near the American's feet before hoisting himself over the remains of the feeble wooden fence.

For some reason, Alfred felt a bit uneasy. "Let's just wait, then. I'm sure we'll see something closer soon."

"Well, what if we don't?" Matt called up the side of the ravine, the nation already having edged his way a good part of the distance. "I'll just get it now; I'm already down here."

Nervously, Alfred watched his twin scale the ravine one-handed. Matthew was correct; his hiking boots gave his feet excellent traction as he carefully picked his way down to the creek side. "You're a regular mountain goat, Mattie!" he shouted down below, earning a chuckle.

Eventually, the Canadian made his way down to the small river flowing through the gully. He dipped his silver bottle in, making sure to fill it all the way before sealing it tightly and tossing it lightly aside. Cupping his hands under the cool current, Matt quickly splashed some water on his heated face; it was awfully hot for Vancouver Island, even in July.

He shook his head gently to rid of the excess water and glanced up to see his brother watching him closely. "Coming up!" Canada yelled up the ravine, shocking himself slightly at the volume of his voice. He didn't usually speak much louder than a whisper.

From above, Alfred flashed him a thumbs up. As he watched the nation confidently climb towards him, America began to relax. He wasn't quite sure why he'd been so concerned all if a sudden. _It isn't even that steep. And Mattie knows how to climb_. He held out a hand for his brother to grasp as the Canadian approached.

Matthew reached for the outstretched arm, grinning. As he did, the water bottle came loose from his grip and rolled a few metres down the hill. "_Maple_...just a sec, Al."

Canada turned and began to ease towards the water, gripping onto a nearby branch for comfort. The bottle had rolled into a difficult spot to reach, Alfred realized. Still, his brother was just about there. He could see Mattie's hand reach out for the bottle, just a few inches shy.

Frustrated, Matthew swung out a little bit in an attempt to make up the distance. As he did so, the weakened branch snapped, tumbling the small nation down the shallow ravine.

Without stopping to think, Alfred swung himself over the fence and slid as fast as he could towards his brother's form, kicking up the loose soil in a cloud as he did so.

_I knew something like this would happen_, he cursed as he got to his feet and rushed to Canada's side. "Mattie, you okay?" he asked, voice full of anxiety.

Matthew tried to turn from his side to his back, wincing slightly before giving up. "Yeah, I think so."

Alfred hadn't missed the pained expression on Canada's face. "Don't try to move, you could hurt yourself more." He quickly scanned his sky blue eyes over his ally's body, looking for any obvious injury.

"Don't be dramatic, Alfred, I'm fine." With those words Matthew sat up, leaning against the steep side of the hill. His hands unconsciously went to his left side, holding it lightly as he tried to catch his breath. Alfred's eyes followed.

"Matt, you're hurt. Let me see," the American demanded as he knelt before his brother and unzipped Matthew's beige jacket.

A deep red stain was blooming from between his pale hands, effectively ruining Matt's white t-shirt. Alfred could do nothing but stare in horror, until he remembered Matthew wasn't really aware of the situation.

"See, I'm fine," he said without looking down at his shirt. Apparently Canada was unable to feel the stickiness of the blood between his fingers. Without replying, Alfred simply moved Matt's hands aside and pressed his own on the wound, trying to stop the blood flow the only way he knew how. His hands slipped along Canada's abdomen slightly, slick from the sanguine liquid flowing far too freely.

Canada furrowed his brow in confusion. "Al, what are you doing? Is everything okay?" He lifted his left hand up to grip Alfred's shoulder but stopped short when he saw the crimson coating his hand.

Matthew began to tremble. "I'm not fine, am I?" he whispered.

_This is really deep_, America thought in panic as he tried in vain to dam the blood, warm and sticky beneath his fingers. With every beat of Canada's heart, more blood pulsed its way through his brother's barrier. Looking up, Alfred saw the fear in the bright indigo eyes. "It's okay, Mattie, I've got you." He tried to smile to comfort the nation, though he doubted it was very convincing. "You'll be fine."

Matthew didn't reply; he simply stared as Alfred anxiously pressed on the wound. After a few anxious moments, the flow seemed to ease. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief and pressed a towel he'd brought to Canada's side. As America mopped up some of the mess, he glanced up at his brother.

Matthew's dulling purple eyes were still on his brother but seemed unfocused. They stood out against his skin, much too pale from the blood loss. Even his lips seemed blanched. _Just how much blood did he lose?_

"Mattie", Alfred whispered as he shook his friend lightly, "you still awake?"

He blinked, focusing on his brother's face. "Alfred..." he breathed, recognition brightening his eyes for a moment. "I'm kind of...cold."

Hastily, Alfred removed his bomber. He lay down next to Matthew and laid the leather above the two. "That's...better," Canada tried to smile as his eyelids started to droop. "You're so _warm_, Alfred."

"Try and stay awake, Mattie," Alfred whispered into the Canadian's soft hair. "It's a busy trail. Someone will see us soon." Alfred knew the two were well out of sight.

"Okay..." he yawned. "It's just so hard...I'm tired, you know?"

Alfred grasped his brother closer. "Try for me, Matt."

"Okay," came the whispered response. "Alfred?"

"Yes?"

"Just so you know afterwards-"

Alfred bit back tears. "It's gonna be okay, I promise. You don't need to talk like that."

"No, Alfred, it's...important," Matthew managed to murmur as his eyes began to close. "I love you, America. Always...will."

"Ouch!" Arthur managed to bit back a curse as he stared at his bloodied finger. "Well, I guess the stew won't have that particular carrot," he remarked in his heavy British accent.

The carrot, already minced beyond recognition in a rather _artistic_ manner, now had a light dressing of O positive.

Arthur headed over to the sink, where he was about to rinse his finger. Before he could do so, a muffled crash from the direction of the hallway demanded his attention.

Turning, the Englishman saw the cause: three McDonald's bags littered the floor, Big Mac's spilling out in all directions. Alfred stood above the poor burgers, face as pale as Russia's.

Arthur looked down to the cause of the stare: his sliced finger. He hastily stepped over to the sink to rinse his finger under the warm water before wrapping it in a clean cloth.

He held the injured hand behind his back as he spoke. "Alfred, lad, it's nothing," he began slowly, "just a minor cut."

The American seemed to snap out of his stupor at that. "Yes, of course it is, England," he replied shortly, bending down to retrieve his meal.

Not fooled, the Brit walked over to his charge and placed his uninjured hand on his shoulder. "Honestly. I'm fine."

"Of course you are, Arthur," America said, meeting his green eyes. "I've just had another," he hesitated, "_episode _recently. Nothing major." He sighed. "I'm just...not so good with blood lately."

_Oh, of course_. Over the last few months, the American had been rather forthcoming about his strange dreams to England, but the island nation hadn't heard about one for weeks now. He'd simply assumed they'd stopped, and Alfred had characteristically forgotten about the entire ordeal. "What's happened now, Alfred? Is he still..?"

"_Dying_, Arthur?" he spat. Alfred watched as Arthur visibly recoiled from the undeserved anger in his charge's voice. "Sorry, Iggy, it isn't your fault," he said sheepishly, "but yeah. Every dream ends only once I fail at saving him. Yet again." He rubbed at his eyes, looking tired and suddenly much older than before. "Lately it's been even worse. Before, I'd just lose him; now, he dies in my arms."

Strangely, Arthur felt an out-of-character urge to hug the obviously distressed American. _How terrible..._ "Is there ever a chance to stop it before it happens, lad?"

Alfred looked away, shame in his blue eyes. "That's just it, Arthur. Lately, I've _caused_ it. I've watched him die night after night, knowing I could have stopped it."

"Come now, Alfred," Arthur said kindly, "you can't put that all on yourself. I'm sure you did everything you could." He thought for a moment. "Do you think you...might be open to seeing someone about this? Maybe taking something, just to stop the dreams?" _He really does look terrible_, Arthur thought to himself as he gazed at Alfred. He seemed tired and limp; a poor man's America.

"No way, Arthur." America replied stonily; a familiar determined look crossing the nation's face. "I have to figure this out. He needs me, and I _will_ find a way to save him."

* * *

So...yeah. I know each chapter is a bit formulaic so far, but I like to think it adds to my story's charm rather than bores the reader. But don't worry; this is the last chapter that is like DREAM-DEATH-OH WAIT IT WAS A DREAM. And if you're going to be lovely and review, maybe don't be super harsh and go "Thank goodness the format is going to change because I was getting so bored with this."

Well, you can if you want. But I might have to go cry/drink/write SuFins because those fans are SO NICE OHMYGOD. It must be nice to be canon.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi everyone! I had SO MANY reviews for last chapter (and I loved all of them, thank you SO MUCH) that I decided to put this one up a bit early.

A few notes before we start:

First, after Wednesday it might be awhile between updates. I have company coming over for two weeks and it's the kind of company that hangs around all the time, and I'd rather not share this part of my life with everyone I know. BUT, that being said, I will update this again Wednesday, so it won't be so bad. I'll really try and post in those two weeks, but I just wanted to warn you ahead of time if I can't.

Second, I see I was right about being too repetitive. You see, when I sent it to my sister to proofread, it was all in one block. As in, she got to read the whole thing at once. She didn't think it was too repetitive, but that's probably because she never had to deal with the same cliffhanger over and over again, so I thought it was cool too, and now I see that some of you think I'm 'pushing it' a bit with my chapters. I'M SORRY D:!

Don't worry, this chapter isn't the same. However, a large part of the story does take place in his dreams, so I hope that that isn't a problem. It's just that it's the only way they can really communicate (at least, for now ;) ). I realise it's important to cater to your audience, and I am trying to, but I also want to keep the integrity of my original story alive, as I'm sure you want me to. This chapter does NOT follow my 'formula', but it does have areas that are the same, just as I intended it.

Hopefully you enjoy it. It's actually my favourite chapter :D Though it is a bit choppy. Hopefully it isn't too confusing.

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia. I don't even own any of Canada. I just rent.

* * *

Alfred still hadn't fallen asleep. He glanced over at his digital clock. 12:30. He'd been trying to sleep for nearly two hours now.

Arthur's words from earlier echoed in the American's head, making Alfred angrier each time he replayed them. Didn't Arthur realize he didn't _want_ help? The last thing Alfred wanted was for these nightly dreams to stop. Even though each dream always ended in tragedy, they also seemed like the only way left to communicate with his twin brother.

He still wasn't sure exactly what happened to Canada. No one seemed to know, if they even remembered the quiet nation to begin with. Only Francis' deep blue had eyes lit up in recognition at the mention of the name Matthew as Arthur's had. "_Ah, Mathieu_," he'd sighed, "_mon petit frere_. He looked much like you,_ non_?" The Frenchman had gazed sadly at Alfred, studying his face. But France had no more answers for America than anyone else.

Honestly, it seemed as though the nation had just _disappeared_ one day. The world certainly didn't notice the absence of Canada. No one was even sure of the last time they saw him.

Because of this, in a strange way, Alfred was grateful for his dreams. Any way to remember Matthew was a gift.

And one of these nights, Alfred would save him.

* * *

"A triple-scoop waffle cone with rocky road, triple chocolate and...cookies 'n cream. Please."

Alfred watched eagerly as the employee with a scoop grunted over the ice cream bucket, trying to gather as much as she could from the bottom of the barrel. The American glanced over at his brother, who was trying politely to get the attention of the first worker.

"And an ice cream for him too, please," Alfred pointed to the smaller man. Matthew smiled slightly at him, somewhat frustrated.

"Oh, sorry about that," the girl said in surprise. She obviously hadn't noticed the Canadian. "What would you like today?"

"I'd like a small, single-scoop maple toffee ice cream please." Alfred scoffed at the order.

"Always with the maple, _eh_, Mattie?" he joked, emphasizing the Canadianism.

Matthew simply looked at the super-sized cone Alfred was being handed. "Always with the overindulgence, _huh_, Al?"

Alfred grinned and took a huge bite. "Yep."

* * *

The American flew out of bed and threw the first pair of old jeans he found on the floor over his boxers. He slipped a jacket over his bare chest and stepped into his closest pair of shoes.

He headed out of his room and bolted down the darkened stairs, taking them two at a time.

Alfred unlocked his door and headed into the chilly night air, walking much faster than necessary on the narrow stone sidewalk. He wandered with no destination in mind other than a clearer head.

_Another accident._

He stopped at a metal bench by the street corner and sat. The steel was cold but Alfred hardly noticed his own shivers over his brooding.

Yellow illuminated the intersection, bathing the empty street in light. Alfred glanced up; a night bus was approaching.

He could still see the tires spinning. He could still see the blood-soaked hair.

_Another car accident_.

* * *

The brothers walked down Younge Street side by side, enjoying the warm early July afternoon sunshine.

Alfred had finished his huge ice cream cone nearly ten minutes before. He glanced over at Matthew, but the Canadian was still nursing his cone. It barely looked like he'd touched the treat at all, Alfred thought. It was astonishing the maple ice cream hadn't melted all over Canada from the sun exposure.

"Are you ever going to finish that? At this rate it'll go bad before you eat it," Alfred commented.

Matthew ignored his brother. "You're just jealous because you inhaled yours and now have nothing left."

Alfred scoffed good-naturedly. "Jealous of what? That doesn't have any chocolate in it."

"It doesn't need it," the Canadian replied with a smile. "There's nothing that can top maple ice cream."

"Oh, I bet a few of my flavours back home could."

"I'm sure this was your plan all along," Matthew sighed, "but here." He held out his ice cream. "Just try it."

Reluctantly, Alfred lowered his mouth to the cone and took a small bite from the side.

_OH._

Matthew watched his brother's expression as Alfred chewed, waiting for a verdict.

_This is amazing. It's sweet, but not too sweet, and smooth, and creamy. And...familiar? _Alfred flashed Matthew a thumbs up before stealing another bite.

"Hey!" Matt chided, pulling the dessert away quickly. "That's _my_ cone. If you wanted more, you should have bought more."

"I don't think they make quadruple scoop cones, Mattie."

* * *

A flash of gold caught Alfred's eye, but this time he knew better than to follow.

He knew Matthew wasn't really just around the corner, waiting for him.

Even if he was just down the alley, as he was in Alfred's dream last night, he would probably be slowly bleeding out in a pool of his own blood. As he was last night.

Alfred wasn't sure which was worse: following the flash and seeing his brother dying, or following the flash and seeing nothing at all.

So he stayed.

* * *

A few tinny bars of _The Star-Spangled Banner_ sang out over the chaos of the street. Alfred stopped in his tracks to fumble for his cell phone. "Hello, Alfred F. Jones here," he answered confidently. "Oh, hey!"

Canada had walked a bit further up the street before noticing that he'd lost his partner. The smaller blonde turned back, scanning the crowd with his violet-blue eyes for his brother.

"No, I'm not that busy," Alfred replied, still on his phone. "What do you need?"

Matthew had found the American, chatting away. As he approached, snippets of Alfred's conversation carried.

"Sure, just let me get back to the hotel. No, it's no problem at all. I'll catch the first flight out in the morning." Alfred looked around quickly, but Matthew's natural camouflage seemed to be in full effect at that moment, because his sky blue eyes failed to focus on his brother's face. "Yeah, I'm on my way now."

Crestfallen, Matthew watched his brother turn and walk down the street, seemingly forgetting about him. For some reason, the Canadian didn't feel compelled to follow.

Instead, Matthew walked to the nearest garbage can. He just wasn't feeling in the mood for ice cream anymore.

* * *

"Alfred, you have to do something about this. _We_ have to do something about this."

"_L'Amerique_, let us help you. We're here for you."

_No! _Alfred shouted inside. _You don't understand! You _can't_ understand!_

"I'm fine," Alfred said instead. "I'm doing fine. You're both worrying unnecessarily."

"Don't give me that," Arthur said, green eyes flashing. "You look as though you haven't slept in weeks; you probably haven't!"

"We know you're grieving," Francis said gently, "but this is not healthy for you. It's been so long since Cana-"

"Shut up!" Alfred shouted, hands balling into fists involuntarily. "Matthew," he breathed. "Mattie. Not just Canada. God, shouldn't you two care more? He was _yours_!" America's voice began to raise again. "He was yours just as I am! Why didn't you care?"

"America," Arthur spoke, voice hard and cold. "Matthew is gone. Canada is gone." He tried to avoid looking at the tears welling up in his charge's eyes. "You...you are not." His voice softened. "Let us help you. It doesn't have to be this hard for you, lad."

Alfred shook his head, blonde strands flying back and forth.

"No."

* * *

Alfred had the distinct feeling he was forgetting something. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something wasn't right.

It was driving him crazy.

He'd been pacing back and forth across his plush hotel room floor, trying for about an hour to recall just what it was he'd left out. Try as he might, nothing came to mind other than the certainty that he was missing something important. He'd even packed and repacked his bags to make sure everything was there, and nothing seemed to be amiss. The American was just about to go through his luggage a third time.

He began to unzip his bag, but hesitated. He was certain whatever he'd forgotten had nothing to do with his baggage. And he really didn't want to pack again.

_I give up._ Alfred threw on his bomber and headed out the door. Perhaps a walk around outside would give his memory the jog it needed.

* * *

"What can I get you, hon?" the kindly barista asked. Alfred had been trying to make up his mind for awhile now, but he could have been ordering in Italy for all he knew. This was America, he thought, frustrated. Shouldn't their drinks have American names?

"Uh, just whatever you like best...Margie," Alfred strained to read her name tag. She flashed him a wide grin.

"One maple latte, coming up."

Alfred didn't pay attention to her words. Lately he was too consumed with his thoughts to be of much help to anyone. Even his boss had commented on his unusually quiet behaviour before sending him away on some kind of forced 'vacation'.

Unfortunately, that left the American with a lot of free time he didn't want. Everything he did was beginning to remind him of his loss. He just couldn't get away from Matthew's memory.

He didn't really want to.

A steaming porcelain mug was placed in front of him, temporarily ending his train of thought. "Thanks," he called, but the barista merely waved from behind the counter.

Blowing to cool the beverage a bit, Alfred lifted the blue cup to his mouth. Instantly, tears welled up in his eyes. He had to put it down.

Mattie was in everything.

* * *

Alfred walked leisurely down the sidewalk, noting how much less crowded it was than before. _Maybe Canadians have a curfew_.

Most of the businesses seemed to be closed as well, or in the process of shutting down. _Strange. Maybe it's a holiday up here?_ He knew it wasn't one of their shared holidays, since he had nothing planned until his birthday in a few days.

A pink and white sign caught his eye. _Hell, even the ice cream parlour is clo-_

_Shit._

A ghost of the taste of maple ice cream flooded his mouth.

How on earth could he have forgotten about _Mattie_? Alfred broke into a sprint, heading in the direction of Matthew's Toronto home. _Oh jeez. _

He'd left him alone, on the street. Without even a mention of his plans to go home. _I'm a terrible brother._

He began to run faster, not noticing his muscles starting to ache in response. He tore through any remaining pedestrians blocking his way, though the crowds had certainly thinned.

Alfred was forced to stop at a busy intersection, though he shifted his weight anxiously from foot to foot. He checked his pocket; he had left his cell phone at home. Trying to distract himself, he glanced over to the small gathering behind him. They were watching something on the large TV screens in the store window. He strained to see what they were watching.

Hockey, he thought it was. _Strange, didn't the NHL __season __end like, a month ago?_ Watching the ice sport brought him the same feeling from earlier. He still felt as though he wasn't remembering something. But he was certain that he'd just forgotten Matthew. Was there something else?

The traffic lights finally signalled for Alfred to cross, and the American hurried across the street. It was still a long ways to the Canadian's house, and Alfred couldn't stand to have his brother feel forgotten any longer than he had to. _It's bad enough I forgot him in the first place,_ Alfred berated himself. He seemed to remember Matthew saying something about this kind of incident, though he couldn't remember exactly where. _On a boat?_ But they'd never hone boating, had they?

Alfred stopped in his tracks.

He remembered.

* * *

Arthur sat down in the chair in front of Alfred's large desk. "America, we have to talk."

Alfred looked up from his papers but didn't meet the Englishman's eyes. "There's nothing to talk about, Arthur."

* * *

It was a dream. This all was a dream.

* * *

Arthur got to his feet, forcing Alfred to meet his eyes. "I won't take that from you anymore, Alfred. I'll be damned if I'm going to sit here and watch you waste away to nothing!"

Alfred gazed back dispassionately. "What do you plan to do, Iggy? Take me to a psychiatrist? Drug me up so I'm no good to anyone?"

"No, lad," he replied, voice shaking. "I just need you to talk to me."

"We've talked. You didn't understand then, you won't understand now."

* * *

He remembered the snowstorm, the car accidents, the fire, the drowning, everything.

He remembered every heartbreaking second of watching Canada die, over and over.

* * *

"Try me, Alfred," Arthur asked, never before sounding so serious. "I swear, this time I'll listen."

Alfred sighed, relenting. "I just need to save him, Arthur. Just once. I _have_ to, Iggy," he pleaded, eyes begging for understanding.

"But why, lad? What will that really accomplish?" _He's gone_, Arthur nearly whispered. Still, the unspoken words hung heavy in the air.

"No one really knows what happened," Alfred began slowly, seeming to debate over whether he really wanted to speak the words. "Maybe...I mean, we're nations. We don't live and die like people. And it isn't as though I invaded Canada. He's still there, in a way."

"Alfred..."

"Maybe, if I can save him..."

* * *

And he'd be damned if he was going to let Matthew die again.

* * *

"What if...you can't?" England asked as gently as he could.

"Then I keep trying."

* * *

Alfred banged on the red front door, jiggling the doorknob in his worry. "Mattie, open the door," he yelled, heart pounding in his chest. _Oh god, what if it's too late? What if he's already gone and it's because I left him alone?_

He heard footsteps from inside. The door unlocked.

"Al?"

* * *

Well, it's a different cliffhanger :D

See you Wednesday!


	8. Chapter 8

Hello, and here is Chapter 8 for you all. I'm rather nervous about this one; I hope it goes over well. Good news is, I only have 2 chapters left after this one, and perhaps an epilogue. At the very latest, the next chapter will be up on the 17th, but I'll try my best to get it up before then, okay?

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Canada asked warily. He stood in the doorway, wearing slightly baggy denim and a familiar red hoodie. His sock-clad feet were partially hidden behind the half-open door, which he seemed reluctant to open further.

"Mattie," Alfred breathed in relief, silently willing his thundering heart to slow. "You're okay. You're still here."

Matthew frowned. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Alfred ignored the question and put his hand on the door. "Look, can I come in please?" Sensing the Canadian's reluctance he continued: "I know you're probably upset with me; you have every right to be. But this is important." He looked into Matthew's violet-blue eyes. "Please."

Canada relented. "All right." In all their years together, he'd never really been able to deny Alfred anything. He opened the door fully, allowing the American inside the tiny residence.

Alfred found himself in a warm, inviting living room. It was small but cozy, reminding him of the inside of a chalet. _Interesting decor, for Toronto_.

Matthew sat on a small leather couch in the far corner, but the prickly aura he seemed to be giving off made Alfred decide on a nearby armchair as a seat instead. He didn't really care, as long as the Canadian was still safe and in his sight.

Trying to relax, Alfred grinned weakly at his brother, only to have it falter a moment later when his brother didn't reciprocate. Matthew didn't look angry, exactly. Just hurt. Though if he knew Matt, and he did, he probably wouldn't bring the incident up at all.

So it was up to him.

"Look, Mattie," Alfred began, "I know what I did earlier was terrible. There's really no excuse for it, so I won't try and insult you by giving you one."

Matthew spoke softly but quickly, nearly cutting his brother off. "Yeah, Alfred, don't worry about it." Alfred looked up in surprise, but Canada didn't seem to be using sarcasm or even attempting his usual passive-aggression. "It happens. All the time. I've kind of gotten used to it over the decades, you know. Years of being forgotten kind of numbs you to it." Matt shrugged, though Alfred sensed that he wasn't nearly as good with it as he seemed.

"That doesn't make it okay. If anything, it makes what I did even worse," Alfred replied, disbelief evident in his voice. _How can he be so nonchalant? _"I mean, I'm your_ twin_, Matt. I really don't think it's just okay with you that I-"

Matthew got to his feet. "Really, Alfred, it's fine. _I'm_ fine." Canada smiled convincingly as he spoke, though Alfred wasn't fooled. He knew when Matthew was lying; Alfred had the same tells.

He began to walk into the nearby kitchen. "Don't worry about me, okay?" Matthew said without looking behind him. "I'll see you later."

"Later, Matt?" Alfred asked, shocked slightly by the dismissal.

"Yeah," Matthew replied from the kitchen. "I know you have to leave early, so it's probably best if you go now, before it gets too late."

"Mattie, don't do this," Alfred tried to stop him without success. He knew he couldn't leave; couldn't let his brother out of his sight. There was no way he could let Canada fall again. Not now that he knew what to expect.

"Please, Alfred. I'm tired. Just go." His voice slightly broke as he said the final words, prompting the American on.

Alfred got to his feet and headed slowly to the kitchen. There he found Canada, sitting on the cold tile floor with his knees to his chest. America wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone look more forlorn than his neighbour did at that moment. Somehow, seeing Mattie in despair like this, and knowing it was his fault he felt that way, hurt more than anything else he'd seen.

"No, Mattie," Alfred said quietly. "I can't leave you like this." He scanned the kitchen, looking for a glass he could fill with water for his brother. That always helped him when he was feeling down.

Instead, he found something that sickened him to his core.

Grabbing the open bottle of painkillers, he thrust them in the Canadian's face. "Matthew, how many of these did you take?" Alfred asked, voice calm yet more serious than he'd ever sounded. The bottle shook slightly in his trembling hand; it was a little less than half full.

Matt didn't look up. "None," he replied, barely audible.

"Don't lie to me," Alfred ordered. His heart was racing erratically; he wouldn't have been surprised if Matthew could hear it. "Damnit, Canada, how many of these did you _take_?"

"None, I said," he repeated quietly. Slowly, the Canadian glanced up to meet Alfred's eyes. Eventually, he broke the heavy silence hanging between the two. "At least...none yet."

America felt ill.

His first instinct was to throw the pills away, but instead he sank to the floor beside his brother. "Oh, Mattie..."

Canada looked away, ashamed. Alfred simply drew him into his arms, holding the smaller figure as tightly as he could. "God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for everything," he whispered into Matt's soft hair. "If I had known, before..." he tried desperately not to tear up.

The Canadian said nothing. He held onto America just as tightly, finding comfort on the shoulder he was slowly dampening with tears. "I know it's stupid, Alfred. And selfish," he said eventually, when he'd composed himself. "And probably wouldn't even work for me. But...I wasn't lying when I said I was tired. I _am_. I'm so tired of being forgotten, or left out, or mistaken for you. I try, but no one notices me. I thought it wouldn't be so bad if I..." he broke off, awkwardly. "I mean, who would notice?"

If possible, Matthew's simple words sickened Alfred more. Mostly because the American knew just how much they rang true. Everyone forgot Canada. Hell, even Alfred himself had, on a regular basis. And he knew that outside of this weird dream world he found himself in, when Canada had really disappeared..._no one noticed_.

There was no way Alfred would ever let that happen again.

"No, Mattie, you can't think that way," Alfred answered softly as he cupped the blonde's tear stained face in his tanned palm. "The world is better with you in it, even if the world doesn't always realize it."

"That may be so, Alfred," Matthew managed to speak, "but I just don't think I'm willing to be everyone's afterthought anymore." He looked down at his feet. "I can't take it."

The sight of the nation so heartbroken made Alfred's own chest ache. _I have to do something. I have to fix this, fix him, somehow_. He knew he had a chance to save him now, and maybe somehow save himself in the process. America had never thought the end of his long ordeal would include saving Canada from himself.

"Matthew," Alfred began, "I've already had to live in a world without you." The Canadian opened his mouth in confusion, but the intense look in the American's clear blue eyes kept him silent. "Hell, I've had to watch you die, over and over again. And now," he brushed his thumb over the reddened lips, "now I have a chance to finally rescue you; to stop this. You've haunted me for weeks, Mattie."

America looked into Canada's darkened eyes, seeing within them questions and fear and...hope? At least, he himself hoped so. Alfred took a deep breath and a chance.

"Mattie, I may be the great United States of America, but I can't change the world. I can only change myself. I've treated you terribly for too long, brother. I've ignored and forgotten you, when really, you make me happier than anyone.

"I promise you, you are not _my_ afterthought, Canada." And with that, he lowered his lips very softly to Matthew's, touching them lightly to his in the most gentle kiss he'd ever experienced. He could feel his heart fly.

Slowly, reluctantly, Alfred pulled away. He opened his eyes, anxious for Matthew's response.

The Canadian's eyes opened a few seconds later, eyelashes wet. His violet gaze fell on Alfred, who was still cupping his face. "Are you sure about this, Alfred?" Matthew asked, sounding afraid to hear the answer.

The words hurt slightly, though Alfred knew he didn't mean them to be cruel. "Is it really so hard for you to believe someone loves you, Canada?" he whispered, searching his face for rejection. Finding none, Alfred leaned in again, capturing the slightly trembling lips once more.

When they eventually broke apart, it was only slightly. "So, Mattie, what do you say?" Alfred asked gently, touching his forehead to his love's. "I know I'm not much, but am I enough to make it worthwhile? To keep you going on?" He kissed him softly, feeling Matt's lips respond in turn. "I promise, if I can at all help it, I'll never let you down again."

Alfred could feel the smile spread across the Canadian's face. "Al, you're perfect," he whispered gently against America's lips. "If this is real...if I really can have you..." he placed another chaste kiss to his lips. "Then the rest of the world doesn't matter."

* * *

Sun shone through the opened window of the Toronto residence. It fell onto Alfred's sleeping form as the light began to rouse him from his slumber.

At first, Alfred thought he was still dreaming. He couldn't remember the last time he'd woken up naturally, without horrific images of Matthew crowding his mind.

_Matthew_. That's right, he thought, he'd finally done it! A huge grin appeared on the American's face, making the room appear even brighter. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled and meant it.

At long last, he'd saved his brother.

His..._lover_. He blushed, recalling the events of last night. It was so strange, but wonderful at the same time.

And he was certain that now, the world would be set right. He could still feel the flutter of his heart from his kisses; he could still smell the maple in the air.

Finally, he could live his life the way it should have always been.

"Mattie?" he called, hearing something like footsteps down the hall. "Where did you go?" He got to his feet, walking to the hall and staring down its length.

Strange. No one replied.

_But that's stupid_, Alfred thought, mind racing. _Maybe he just stepped out for awhile_. He walked to the front door, staring through the front windows for any sign of the Canadian, though there seemed to be none. Only the large American flag outside drew his attention.

Alfred felt his heart plummet as he realized the situation.

_Oh god. Not again. _

* * *

Which is probably exactly what all of you are thinking. What? You thought it would be that easy? Don't worry, I PROMISE that is the last dream you're going to see. Though whether that's a good or a bad thing kind of remains to be seen, doesn't it? We still have a few chapters left.

For some reason I'm convinced I'm going to be flamed by a whole bunch of people who hate the pairing. If you read this and now you're terribly upset, I'm sorry. In my defense, it DOES say 'romance' as one of the genres. Hopefully this is just my stupid tendency to worry needlessly acting up again.

I hope you enjoyed it and that I didn't suddenly alienate all my readers.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello everyone! I'm back and finally able to post. My houseguest is gone and I'm feeling pretty depressed right now, but maybe this will cheer me up, right?

Disclaimer: We don't own Hetalia...

* * *

America stood at the front of the large hall, speaking with as much composure as Arthur had ever seen him deliver. The nation seemed calm and in control, and actually kind of intelligent. _At last_, the Englishman thought in relief, _he's back to his old self._

_Well, maybe a bit better than his old self_.

For once, Alfred was running the meeting smoothly and maturely, managing to address problems outside of his own interests while still avoiding offending anyone. Arthur wasn't sure he'd ever seen the young man go such a long time without declaring his own importance.

His sudden reappearance after months of unexcused absences had caught many nations off-guard. England himself wasn't entirely sure of the cause behind Alfred's recovery; he was simply satisfied with his long overdue return.

Of course, Arthur wasn't an idiot. He knew that somehow Alfred's 'problem' must have been resolved, though just how, he had no idea.

In his heart, the Englishman hoped he had gone to seek help from someone. Though Alfred's brother wasn't really a person but a nation, Arthur figured a regular, human expert would have been a better choice to help the American through his grief and guilt. He knew that he himself wasn't much use. Though Arthur had lived much longer than America and had seen many nations pass on, he was never particularly close to any. In fact, this 'Kannata' (_was that it?_) was the nearest he'd ever come to losing anyone who was worth shedding a few tears over.

And, try as he might, he just couldn't.

It wasn't that Arthur didn't have a heart; he did. All it took was a glance at the Alfred of earlier to remind him that yes, he did have feelings. He could feel the pain in his little brother's eyes reflected in his heart, aching with the desire to help but knowing inside that there was nothing he could do.

In truth, Arthur just couldn't really remember Matthew. Maybe it was his strange disappearance and dissolution; maybe it was something inherent in the nation. Any memories Arthur had of the child were foggy and brief, or clouded by stronger recollections of war with Francis, or visits to Alfred. To England, the forgotten nation seemed more of a vague dream than a lost brother.

He'd tried to remember. After weeks of Alfred's 'illness' (as Arthur often thought of it), he'd gone through his archives, searching. He'd found precious little, other than a few worn documents, outdated maps, and a faded picture taken over a century ago. Arthur, dressed in an ill-fitting suit, grimaced as he stood stiffly with his hand on a teenaged Alfred's shoulder. The American sported a huge grin as he in turn had slung his arm around a slightly shorter, shyer version of himself. Where both Alfred and Arthur were staring into the lens of the camera, the small boy was smiling nervously as he gazed up at his twin. The Englishman's elegant writing on the back assured Arthur of his find: _England, America, and Canada, 1876._

Arthur had kept the picture in his shirt pocket ever since.

* * *

"Excuse me, Alfred," England coughed politely from behind the American. "A word, if you please?"

"Um, sure...England," the blonde answered, turning to see just who was behind him. "What can I do for you?" He stared at the nation expectantly, blue eyes unblinking. Arthur shrunk back slightly; he wasn't used to Alfred acting so...professional. It was a little strange when compared to his past behaviour at these meetings.

"I...uh...just wanted to welcome you back, Alfred," England recovered quickly, grabbing and shaking the young nation's hand as he congratulated him. "You did a great job; you really seem on top of your game, lad. You managed to accomplish more than I've ever seen you do before, and that's saying something." _It was true_, Arthur thought. He had really never been as proud of America as he was that day. He was becoming a nation England could really respect. Finally.

Alfred seemed unfazed by the compliment, though the praise was glowing by England's standards. "Thank you, Arthur. I'm glad you think so," he replied politely though coolly. "Now, if you'll kindly excuse me..." He let the sentence trail off as he began to gather his papers, not looking at the Englishman as he did so.

"Wait, Alfred," Arthur stopped him. He wasn't certain if he really wanted to ask the next question. Alfred seemed so composed; obviously his problems had ceased. Was it really necessary to dredge them up again, especially when he knew how much pain the death of his brother had brought him? At least, when he remembered and realized it for himself as he lived through a thousand of them.

_But...he seems well. I just want to make certain he's truly all right_.

"Have your dreams-that is, I mean to say, have you stopped seeing your...well, then," Arthur stopped himself as he internally berated his sudden inarticulacy. Taking a deep breath, he placed a hand on Alfred's shoulder as he started anew. "Are you well again?"

"Yes, Arthur. I'm perfectly fine." A short reply; delivered brusquely. Arthur sighed; obviously the boy was _not _fine.

Arthur tried again. "Come now, Alfred. I don't mean to offend you, lad. I just mean, is he-"

"Is he gone now, England?" Alfred replied coldly. "Is that what you mean to ask?" The words were quiet, but the hostility the American spoke them with was loud and clear.

England didn't reply. The sharpness of his ward's words didn't exactly beckon him to enquire further. _Obviously he's still having the nightmares_, he mused. _Otherwise, why the frustration_? He removed his hand from Alfred's shoulder. "It's okay, Alfred. I'll just let you get on your way now." He began to leave the room quietly, still stunned by the usually upbeat man's bitterness.

"He is, Iggy." The whispered words stopped the Englishman in his tracks. He looked back, but America wasn't looking in his direction. Instead, he was staring at a small object he held in his hands. "I...I saved him. I managed to stop it, keep him alive."

England took a few steps towards the man, as gently as he would approach a deer he didn't want to startle. "Forgive me, but isn't that a _good _thing, Alfred?" He gave a small smile though he was unsure whether it was the correct thing to do. "Is that not what you wanted? Now you can live your life, get on with being the greatest country in the world," England joked quietly, hoping to raise America's spirits, if only by a small amount.

Alfred sighed quietly and met England's green eyes with his own. "He's gone. I haven't dreamed of him since. I guess I thought that when I saved him..." he shut his eyes tightly, seemingly disgusted. "I guess I just thought that since I could see him while I was awake, that maybe it was connected, you know? Like by saving him in my dreams..."

"You'd bring him back," Arthur finished. America nodded, looking back to what Arthur could now see was a photograph in his hands. _Poor lad_. Arthur wished he were still a little colony again. Then he could scoop the towheaded little boy up into his arms like he had a thousand times before and take away the pain, whatever it was. Unfortunately, he knew that with bigger responsibilities came bigger problems, and Arthur was well aware that he couldn't take away America's hurt so easily now.

"I'm sorry Alfred," he began. "I know that this has all been hard on you, and I am so very sorry that I haven't been able to help you in the slightest." And he was. He was sorry he couldn't grieve the Canadian's passing as Alfred had; he was sorry he couldn't empathize with the American; he was sorry he felt so goddamn useless during this entire ordeal.

He wished the boy would just forget about Canada as he had before.

"You know, you really did well out there today. You seemed so mature and calm, very different than your normal...behaviour." Alfred shrugged slightly, listening but not rapt. Not discouraged, England continued. "Watching you, I thought...maybe Matthew isn't as gone as we think, Alfred."

"What, he's not dead because he's a _part of me_?" he scoffed, not looking up. "You say this as though I'm supposed to feel better because I've somehow magically absorbed some of his qualities. And of those qualities, those are the only ones you can remember?" Alfred snorted. "Look, thanks, but this isn't really helping me right now. I was 'mature and calm' today because for the last few weeks I've felt _dead_ inside."

Arthur digested the angry words for a moment, trying to see past the biting tone to what Alfred was actually saying.

_How stupid of me not to see that. To think he was finally growing up when he was really just not...there. _

"Look, Alfred. Everyone has moments like that when they lose someone dear. You're still the hero, remember?" He grinned weakly. "In time, you'll feel more like your old self and manage to go on."

"It's hard to be the hero when you just can't bring yourself to care anymore, England."

Arthur sighed. He wasn't getting anywhere. It seemed as though whenever he tried to talk to America about this the two nations might as well have been speaking different languages. Everything he said somehow managed to offend the North American and further separate the two.

"Have you ever lost someone close to you, Iggy?, " Alfred asked quietly, seeming to drop the defensive tone in his voice.

Arthur walked forward and finally sat down beside the other nation. He sat close enough that he could feel the heat from Alfred's body. The photograph the American clutched in his hands was visible to him now and Arthur saw it was the same one he had been keeping next to him. For Arthur, it was a way to remember what Matthew had actually looked like. He felt it was probably something different for his little brother.

"No, Alfred, I haven't really," Arthur eventually replied. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest with the enormity of what he was about to do. England placed his hand over Alfred's, enclosing it and the photograph. Alfred looked up.

"But I'm afraid I'm about to." He whispered the words carefully, anxiously. Alfred's sharp blue eyes just stared back at him quizzically. Waiting for his next move.

"I-I know that in the past, you wanted something from me that I wasn-well, I just didn't think I could give it," Arthur said rapidly, feeling heat rising to his face. "But Alfred, it's a hard role to step out of. Caring for you, that is." He swallowed nervously, wishing he could somehow disappear. Why had he thought this might help again?

Unfortunately, Alfred didn't look as though he was getting the gist of what the stuttering Englishman was trying to say. _Idiot. I suppose I'll just have to come out and say it. _

"Before..I didn't really consider it. You're my younger brother and at times you feel like my son. I didn't think that it would be really possible for the two of us to be together, and I dismissed you."

Realization began to dawn on Alfred, lighting his face up as Arthur hadn't seen in months. Seeing an opportunity, England continued. "I know you've probably forgotten about all of that business years ago. But seeing how you've been these last few months, and knowing I couldn't do anything to help you simply because we weren't close enough...it's made me think that perhaps I can change that." As their eyes locked he neared his face closer to the American's, near enough to be able to feel the man's breath on his own lips. "Perhaps...we _can_ be more."

Softly, slowly, Arthur began to close the distance between them. He closed his eyes in anticipation.

His lips met the smooth, warm skin of Alfred's cheek. He felt Alfred give his left cheek a kiss as he did so. Arthur's eyes fluttered open in surprise.

Alfred pulled away, grasping Arthur's hand as he did so. "I'm sorry, Iggy. I just can't do this."

"There's nothing to apologize for, Alfred." England was a bit disappointed, but he could hardly fault America for the same thing he himself had done earlier. "I'm the one who should apologize. I suppose I just waited too long to figure all of this out for myself."

Alfred shook his head slightly. "I don't know. Maybe it would have ended up the same way."

"Is there someone else?" England asked, still feeling foolish. _He's America; the superpower. Of course he's grown out of his crush. _

Really, the man was more embarrassed than hurt. The situation was getting entirely too awkward.

America sighed. "Not exactly. What I wanted then...isn't going to make either of us happy now, Iggy. It would be a relationship built on pity and guilt, and we both know it." He could feel the jade eyes burning into him as he spoke. "I don't think I really have much of a heart left to give you, Arthur."

"Just what is that supposed to mean, lad?" he asked, surprised by the comment. "Just because you and I aren't..well...that doesn't make you incapable of love."

"No, I know." Alfred slowly began to get to his feet, dusting off his pants as he did so. "But I think it's best for me to be alone."

"You can't mean that," Arthur said, incredulous. "One day, I promise you'll find the right someone, and you'll forget about all of this nonsense."

"I wish you were right, I really do. But I had my 'one day', Iggy. It finished, and there's nothing that can bring him back. I know, I tried." He glanced back at the smaller nation, meeting his gaze. "There's nothing else out there for me; I'm done."

Arther licked his lips, realizing just how dry his mouth felt. _He's in love already_, he realized. But Matthew was gone. Alfred's situation really was beyond the scope of England's help. "So, that's it, is it? You've made up your mind to be unhappy?"

Alfred shrugged. "To me, it isn't a choice. To be with anyone else just seems...wrong. I'd rather honour the memories I have than try and forget him all over again."

Arthur didn't reply. He hoped that time would prove the young nation wrong, but the solemn look in America's blue eyes was one he'd seen before from much older and wiser nations. Alfred certainly wasn't taking this lightly.

_Maybe it's the bit of Matthew in him._

"Alfred...is a life without a chance of love really a life worth living?" Arthur asked, finally.

Alfred seemed to ponder the question, a thoughtful look on his tanned face. "You think I should move on."

_Of course. It was a dream, for chrissake. _Not that he didn't respect Alfred's struggles. It just seemed ridiculous to him for Alfred to uproot his life because of some misplaced guilt over his brother and a few strange dreams. But of course, Arthur didn't say that. "I mean what I said, lad. If you live your life in mourning, what kind of a life is that?"

Alfred sighed, looking defeated.

"Maybe you're right."

* * *

So it's a bit of filler but that's okay, I think. It's a bit longer than most of my other chapters, but it has NOTHING on the next one. Absolutely NOTHING. I really should try and break that next one up actually, but you guys wouldn't mind a huge chapter, would you?


	10. Chapter 10

Hello! Here is the long(er) chapter I promised. Now, don't get TOO excited, it's not quite as big as I thought it was, but it still beats every other one I've posted.

I'm a bit nervous about how this is going to go over, but by now, you know I'm a terribly nervous writer. So, I'll stop worrying.

Oh, and thanks to ALL my reviewers. I get so nervous (again!) when I see I have a new one, and then they're all so sweet! And then I'm happy ALL day.

Disclaimer: Still don't own.

* * *

The long trail of footprints Alfred had left in the snow was slowly disappearing as snowflakes began to fall faster from the dark winter sky. America wasn't concerned; he was certain he could easily find his way back if need be. Heroes had excellent navigational abilities, after all.

Though the longer he spent out here, the less certain Alfred was of whether he actually wanted to find his way back.

Using the excuse of 'clearing his head', the American had taken a few days off. His boss hadn't minded; for the last few weeks Alfred had been a complete workaholic. He'd even overheard the President marvelling to a staff member about his sudden 'recovery' and remarking on the nation's sudden change of temperament. Though he wasn't quite the bubbly America of before, this serious workaholic was apparently a welcome change from the mess he'd been previously. Alfred didn't really care what his government thought; he was simply trying to lose himself in his work for a change as opposed to concentrating on what little he had going on in his personal life.

On a whim, the American had flown up to Anchorage and rented a cabin a few hours out of the city, where he was sure he wouldn't be disturbed. At least, the extra bit of cash he'd slid the man at the front desk made Alfred certain he would be left alone indefinitely, just in case one of his fellow nations managed to track him down. He was aware that England had been trying to avoid him for a few weeks now, so America was fairly certain he'd be undisturbed. He wasn't really close enough with most of the other nations for them to even suspect something might be off. After all, he had been showing up to meetings and participating for the last few weeks, doing all that his position required.

Alfred smiled a bit darkly to himself. It would seem that the popular nation had plenty of friendly acquaintances, but very few he could really count on. It was funny to him that this incident was the polarizing catalyst that allowed the American to realize this. He didn't really mourn the missed friendships though; instead, Alfred had begun value the solitude. Without England pestering him and France joining in, lately he'd begun to see his situation more clearly.

The weather had seemed nice enough when he'd left his cabin for a walk, though Alfred wasn't really too concerned at that point. He had been wandering for what seemed like hours out into the forest beyond his shelter and had barely been aware of the earlier sunshine, let alone the incoming snow clouds.

He wasn't sure just how long he'd been wandering, but he did notice the snowflakes had started to whip a bit harder at his tanned skin, stinging him slightly and waking the nation from his grey reverie.

Alfred looked around himself for the first time in what was probably hours.

Dwarfed scrub pines were surrounding him; he had wandered into a small forest in his musings. _Not much shelter, but it'll have to do_, he thought absently. He spotted a tree around his height a few metres off and headed towards it. Loath to remove his bomber (why had he brought leather on a walk in the snow again?), Alfred leaned against the slim trunk, sitting on the soft snow piled underneath it. _I just need to warm up my hands a little, _he thought as he pulled the icy hands up into the warmth of his sleeves.

The snowflakes fascinated him. They fell like petals to the ground, drawing his attention. Alfred relaxed, staring out into the swirling landscape, trying to ignore the occasional nips, reminding his body of the chill. He'd never really been one to appreciate the snow before, but it was almost as though he was viewing it for the first time today. The entire scene seemed clean to him; blank and empty space.

He didn't notice the change at first. The cold, though affecting his extremities slightly, seemed distant to Alfred. In fact, he scarcely noticed when the chill crept up his covered arms and legs, enveloping them in a dark, heavy, almost pleasant numbness. Alfred welcomed the change when he noticed it, figuring the temperature must have raised a few degrees. The snow was beginning to clear too; the flakes were no longer raining from the sky in the millions.

_Ick_. The American jumped slightly as he felt something warm and wet on his hand, which had managed to poke its way out of the comfor of Alfred's bomber sleeve. Something was licking him, forcing Alfred to open the sky-blue eyes he couldn't remember closing in the first place. _What the hell?_ He looked down at his right hand and spotted what appeared to be a tiny polar bear nudging his arm lightly.

_A polar bear?_

He seemed friendly enough, Alfred decided, and ruffled the beast's soft white fur on its head with his hand. "Hey, buddy," he said softly, though the bear didn't look as though it would attack or flee. Instead, it snuggled closer to him, warming the American's side with its body heat and earning a now-rare small smile from Alfred.

"Hi, Al," a quiet voice sounded from Alfred's left.

America froze in place, unwilling to turn and meet the speaker. Unwilling to believe he _could_ meet the speaker.

_That voice..._Alfred recognized it all right. The whispers had followed him for months, taunting him. Before, at least the whispers had held some hope. Now, that voice on the wind only signalled what he feared was his growing insanity. Even out here, in the wilderness, Alfred couldn't escape that voice. Reluctantly, America turned, knowing only the wind would be there to greet him.

His hurt, skeptical blue eyes met their perfect match in indigo.

"Mattie," Alfred whispered, shocked. The Canadian smiled slightly, grasping the American's unoccupied hand in his own smaller ones. Alfred barely felt the gesture, though he wasn't sure if that was due to the numbness of his skin, or the fact that he knew this just _had_ to be another dream of his.

_I mean, it must be_, he reasoned, though his heart ached with the thought. Even so, Alfred was simply happy to see his brother again. _Dream or no dream._

He could at least enjoy Mattie while he had him.

It was almost like looking at his reflection, Alfred thought, as his eyes scanned the face he'd been missing for so long. Honestly, he'd forgotten just how similar they looked. The same dishevelled hair, though Alfred's was cut shorter while Matthew's framed his face softly; the same eyes, though while Alfred's reflected the bright blue skies of the American prairies, Mattie's were darker, more guarded. Even their jawlines were the same, though Alfred's chin was always set somewhat stubbornly. Even with the slight differences, it was remarkable just how alike the two nations seemed.

But there was something about Canada that seemed strange. Alfred hadn't really noticed it at first. Matthew, though often described as invisible, had always really been solid, just like any other nation. But now, Alfred could see that Canada's outline was a little..._blurred. _

"Mattie," Alfred asked hesitantly, needing to break the heavy silence that had fallen, "am I dreaming this?" _God, I hope not_, he thought feverishly. He didn't really want to ask the question at all. Perhaps it was Arthur's urging him to get help; perhaps it was his own desire to get his life back on track; Alfred wasn't sure. But he knew he needed an answer.

Canada, who had been staring not at Alfred but at the small polar bear, glanced up at his twin. There was no smile on his face. "No, Alfred," he replied, an uncommon heaviness to his soft voice. "I'm not a dream this time."

Alfred's heart leaped at these words, though Canada's serious expression halted his excitement quickly. "So, what is this, then?" he asked guardedly. "Are you...back? Is this real?"

Matthew didn't reply at first. He simply stared back at the American, unknown sentiments momentarily flashing through the indigo orbs. Alfred couldn't read whatever Mattie was trying to communicate, however.

Eventually, the northern twin spoke. "I'm here because of you, Al." The words were spoken softly, barely audible over the winter wind Alfred had nearly forgotten about. "I'm here because you need me to be."

Alfred wasn't entirely sure he'd heard the Canadian correctly. "You mean, you're here again? For...good?"

Mattie shook his head lightly. "No, it doesn't work quite like that." He smiled at his brother, edging a bit closer as he did so. "Alfred...what exactly are you doing out here? No gloves, no hat...oh, I almost forgot," he said quickly, digging through his left coat pocket for a second. "Here." He took out a familiar dark red toque, pulling it almost over Alfred's ears.

"Thanks." The American adjusted the toque slightly, thankful for the slight warmth it brought. _Always thoughtful,_ Alfred thought warmly.

Canada stared at America for a moment, analyzing the nation. "No...I know why you're here, Alfred. Though I doubt you'd admit it, even to me," he said thoughtfully.

"Admit what, Mattie?" Alfred asked quietly, knowing the answer himself.

Canada chose to ignore the question. Instead, he wrapped an arm carefully around his brother, sheltering him somewhat from the harsh wind with his slight body. Relieved, Alfred felt himself huddle as close as he could, savouring the nearness he'd missed so much in the last few weeks. He could scarcely believe that this was real; that he hadn't become entirely delusional.

Perhaps he had.

"Canada, what happened to you?" Alfred asked after a few moments, curious. He'd pondered this for months, wondering if one of his strange dreams really held the key to Canada's strange disappearance. But there were so many dreams, so many deaths...it was impossible to recall them all, let alone sift through each one's likelihood. Still, there was always a chance. "Did I...see it? Your death, I mean?"

"Oh." Alfred felt Matthew inhale sharply before letting all his breath out slowly, seeming to steady himself. "No one really _saw_ it, Al. It wasn't like any of your dreams." He let out a soft chuckle. "It wasn't any kind of blaze of glory, that's for sure. Rather unimpressive, actually." He sobered, pausing for a few moments before continuing. "In the past, when nations would fight each other for land, or resources, or differences, or for whatever excuse, there were times when a conquered country would just...disappear. Like the Roman Empire."

_But... _"Did someone attack you?" Alfred sat up, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He turned to his brother, a look as hard as steel in his blue eyes. "Who was it, Mattie? Don't try and protect anybody; I'll find out."

Matthew disarmed Alfred with a light peck on the lips. He leaned his forehead against the American's as he continued. "No, I wasn't attacked. I know I wasn't very noticeable, but I'm sure you would have remembered _that,_ Al," he teased lightly. "My point was, nations can just disappear. We don't all die a bloody death."

"So what happened, then?" Alfred asked gently, not really wanting the answer.

Matthew sighed. "Well, I've always been sort of..._invisible_. Even to you, my closest ally. My brother." Alfred looked away, guilt filling his heart. Matthew placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as he continued, squeezing it lightly. "I tried to be noticed. For years, I tried. I don't know what it was about me, exactly, that cursed me with such forgetability, but even when I was just a colony, I always had to fight for any attention from Arthur. And," Canada smiled, "if there's anything you remember about me, it's probably my distaste for fighting.

"When I became my own nation, I thought it would be different. And there were times when my opinion did matter to the world." Matthew's voice rose a bit, momentarily rising out of a whisper with pride. "For awhile, I was more than just Arthur's colony, or your brother. And people remembered me." His voice lowered again, dropping back into the familiar soft tones Alfred was used to. "But that was long ago, Al. And I faded into the background, except this time was a bit worse. It's hard to go back to anonymity. And I guess I just couldn't handle it a second time." Canada broke off at that, leaving the two in silence again.

Alfred was stunned. "So, what happened? You _killed_ yourself, Matt?" He remembered with nausea his last dream. _If only I'd been there..._

"No."

"Then what?" he asked, confused.

"I just...faded away," he replied softly. "I don't remember exactly what happened. I don't think there was a specific day, a specific time. No one noticed me, and eventually, I stopped noticing too." He shrugged nonchalantly. "And one not-so-special day, I realized I really was invisible." Matthew's indigo gaze met Alfred's. "Eventually, even to myself."

Alfred hadn't expected that answer at all. He had figured he'd seen his brother's death somewhere in his nightmares, and had been trapped reliving some form of it over and over again. Instead, America realized he had actually missed Canada's end, and by doing so, had inadvertently caused it. His heart, already shaken, seemed to break all over again.

"I-I'm so _sorry, _Mattie," the dark blonde broke down, unable to keep his feelings in any longer.

"What?" Matthew sounded surprised. "You think I blame _you_? Alfred, it's no one's fault. _I _certainly don't think it's your fault. In fact, I'm sorry this whole thing has been such a burden on you."

_A burden? _Alfred certainly didn't think of his experiences in that light. They were upsetting, of course, but in the end, he was _grateful_ for them. "I'm happy it happened, Matt."

"Why?" Canada looked surprised. "All this weird..._connection_ has done is complicate your life. Weren't you happier before all of this?"

Alfred shook his head. "Remembering you...well, it may have made my life more complicated. It hasn't been easy at all. But, Mattie," he said softly, "if I had the choice between going back to normal and forgetting all of this, or spending a few moments a night with you, I'd choose you." He swallowed thickly. "Can't we at least go back to that? If you can't come back, if you're really gone, can't we at least be together like before?" He tried not to plead as he spoke. "Please, make it like we were."

Matthew sighed. "Al," Canada started slowly, "I'm really sorry. It just...doesn't work like that. You would have never even seen me in the first place if we weren't so close. We're brothers, twins. Even regular twins usually have a powerful bond. And as nations, no two had a stronger relationship than you and I. Those all made for a special situation. You actually remembering me wasn't because I've been on the cusp of returning."

"Then why?" Alfred questioned, not really wanting the answer.

"I think...it's because you needed to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" _Goodbye? _Alfred felt something begin to burn within him, firing him up as he hadn't felt in months. Finally, after all of the torment, all of the waiting, he had Canada back in his arms, and he was just supposed to let it happen all over again? _No. No. No no no nonono._

Alfred stood abruptly, staring down his younger brother. "Mattie, you said before you were out here because of me. Why, exactly?"

The Canadian looked up at Alfred. "You know why."

Alfred crouched down, meeting the blue-violet gaze straight on. "Tell me, Canada."

Matthew stared back levelly, though pain was evident in his eyes. "You weren't going to come back, Alfred." He sighed, looking away. "You were never planning on going back to that cabin. I'm here to convince you otherwise."

"Mattie, some things are worth dying for."

"This is hardly one of them, Jones," Matthew replied, voice cold. "What are you fighting for, Alfred? All you'd do is leave the most powerful country in the world without a representative."

"So what does that mean for me, then?" Alfred exclaimed angrily. "Just what am I supposed to do? Live forever, and forever be unhappy? I don't care anymore, Mattie," his voice lowered, shaking slightly. "I haven't for a long time. The country can run without me; it has for awhile now."

"Alfred, I can't let you do this," Canada pleaded, voice trembling. "I can't be responsible for all of North America falling. You have to stay."

Alfred pulled Matthew into a warm embrace, feeling the nation's hot tears on his uncovered neck. "Mattie, I don't get a happy ending. I don't get any hope of seeing you in sixty years or so, when I've lived a good long life. I might never get to be with you again." He ran his ungloved fingers through the soft blonde hair. It felt so light, it was almost nonexistent. He gripped the nation more tightly, trying to convince himself Mathew was real. "And is this the mindset of someone you really want to run a nation? Someone wishing it would all just end?"

"I..just wish we could have figured this out before." Alfred felt, rather than heard, the Canadian's close whisper. "Maybe it could have been different."

"Maybe." Alfred replied. Matthew had spoken aloud the words America had thought to himself every day since he realized just what he was dreaming about. "It doesn't matter now, Matt."

"No, Jones, it does." Canada pried himself gently from Alfred's embrace. "You have to go back. And it has to be soon; the sun set a little while ago. You'll freeze to death." Alfred hadn't noticed the storm abate, but sure enough, it had. The clearing night sky only seemed to make the evening air seem frostier.

Alfred gazed at Canada. He took in the soft, waving blonde hair he loved, the pale, porcelain skin, the dark, deep eyes he'd fallen for. Most of all, he took in the translucent quality his brother now seemed to possess; he seemed to nearly flicker around the edges, as though any moment he might disappear into the winter wind forever. Again.

"Mattie, even the worst nightmares, the ones that haunted me for weeks afterwards, are nothing compared to knowing that if I go back there, I will never see you again. I'll never be able to speak to you. I'll never get to play hockey with you. I'll never get to share ice cream with you. I'll never be able to do this," he spoke with feeling as he pulled Matthew into a rough, intense kiss that was more emotion than lust. Still, the warm contact incensed the American onwards.

As they reluctantly broke apart, Alfred continued, refusing to let go of Matthew's arms as he did so. "I know I'm lucky. I'm a powerful nation, I'm young, I have a lot going for me. But I've never wanted anything as much as I want this. As much as I need you.

"I know I've messed up before. I ignored you, I forgot you, I lost the best thing that never happened to me, really. But Mattie, can you really ask me to give this up? To give you up?" he whispered in between the light kisses he began to shower over Matthew's face. "Because I won't."

Matthew sighed, trying not to let himself be pulled into America's affections. "Alfred, you can't just give up like this because I'm gone. Death happens, but mine shouldn't change the world so much. People _depend _on you."

"Well, let them depend on someone else for a change!" America exhaled, frustrated. "I'll give Iggy a chance to be in the spotlight again. Or maybe just let Germany deal with everyone; he's better at it than I am, anyway." He stopped short, an errant thought halting his tirade. _Unless... _"Do you not _want_ me, Mattie?"

Matthew stared back at his brother, surprise evident on his face. "It isn't that, Alfred, not at all. I love you, you know." He grinned sheepishly, looking towards stars that had begun to appear. "I pretty much always have. I just can't let you give all of this up for _me_. I...I don't even really exist anymore."

Alfred smiled faintly. "Mattie," he said softly but firmly, reaching out to cup the Canadian's cheek. To his astonishment, his hand had started to take on the same strange, semi-translucent quality as his brother. Alfred felt a surge of happiness flood his body as realization hit. "_This_ is what's real to me. This is what's important. _You_ are what makes me happy."

Somewhere above the flickering nations the first hints of what promised to be a spectacular aurora began, dusting the snow-covered ground in a shower of greens and violets. Kumajirou looked up, dazed by the light show.

Alfred didn't care.

"Without you," he whispered, pulling the Canadian into a gentle kiss, "there is nothing."

* * *

There will be an epilogue. It just isn't written yet and may be awhile in coming, as I'm doing the whole 2 jobs + university thing ATM. But I'll try and not let it be forever.

I really hope you guys like it, even though it's a little sad. I'm pretty proud of the story: my first finished (well, except for the epilogue) multichaptered fanfic. Thank you so much for making it a positive experience and alleviating a bit of my fear of showing my work to actual people.


	11. Chapter 11

England couldn't help it. Every few moments, his eyes would invariably wander over to the chair of the American delegate.

He seemed to be a nice chap. Greying slightly, a few pounds overweight. Ready-enough smile. A lot quieter than he was used to, of course, but that was to be expected.

He didn't really remember what they had done with Canada's chair after the nation's disappearance. The duties had been taken over by _him, _of course, but one would have thought an empty chair at the table would have been noticed sooner than it was.

Same with the name change. The G7 was familiar, and sounded to Arthur just how it should. The G8 sounded slightly foreign whenever he sounded it out, but still had a ring of truth to it.

From across the room, the American waved slightly at Arthur, causing him to start. _Bollocks, I didn't realize I was staring,_ he mentally berated himself. _So rude_. Thankfully, the man simply shot him a polite, if bewildered look and turned his attention back to the ever-articulate Germany, currently speaking against carbon emissions or something like that. England wasn't exactly operating at full capacity today.

Actually, no nation present seemed quite normal today. Everyone was a little more formal and a little less _wild _today. England mentally scoffed; it was almost as though they were in the presence of a parent. This ordinary citizen wasn't one of them; could never hope to understand the complexities, the dynamics, the _emotions_ behind the nations in front of him.

But what else was the American government to do under the circumstances? Leave the nation with no representative?

So the nations kept silent, welcoming the newcomer cordially, if coolly.

"I saw your staring today, _l'Angleterre_," Francis murmured softly as he and England exited the conference building. "You are worried, _no_? This newcomer..." he trailed off, knowing Arthur understood.

Arthur sighed in response, fumbling for his large, charcoal umbrella to shield himself against the heavy West Coast rain. Finally, the long, silver spokes spread and a dreary cover went up over both the nations. Cab fare was ridiculous in this particular city, and Arthur had always been rather fond of the rain. The old rivals began to walk down the damp streets in tandem.

"I am," he finally relented. "This man...he won't do. He's not like _us_. How on Earth is he going to represent America with the same passion as-"

"_Je sais_," France cut him off smoothly. "'E is not the same; 'e will never be. But 'e will have to do, Arthur." The name rolled of Francis' tongue a bit awkwardly; Arthur could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually heard that from the Frenchman's lips. "You know they have no one better, no one more qualified. It took them 'alf a year to find someone and train 'im properly. If _monsieur _Anderson cannot understand us and 'ow we feel, then we will 'ave to learn to understand 'im." The next words were spoken firmly, though Francis turned his head as he did so. "We are out of options, _l'Angleterre._"

Arthur felt ill. "I know," he responded faintly. "We just have to deal with the situation, and not make an utter mess of it all. Maybe I'll meet with him privately..." he spoke, not really listening to the words he was speaking. "He doesn't seem so bad. Just _different_." England swallowed dryly, slightly afraid to ask France the question on his mind all day. Every day. For six months.

"What's going to happen to us, Francis?" he almost whispered, his voice coming out much less confident than he had anticipated. "What if we just...disappear like that?"

The Frenchman was silent as he pondered the question, watching the cars slick past on the flooding street like beetles in the night. "Then we are gone," France answered after a short while. "But 'onestly, were there no signs from_ l'Amerique_ before 'is disappearance that something was amiss? I remember that time on our way back from the meeting last autumn. It was as though 'e had seen a ghost, remember?"

Arthur thought about spilling out all of his thoughts over the last few months to Francis. All of the little incidents Alfred had spoken to him of, and then later, the large ones where Arthur hadn't been entirely certain Alfred was still completely sane. He could clearly remember Alfred's face the last time he'd seen him: hollow, pale. England knew there had been signs. Instead, he spoke. "Do you recall a nation named _Canada_?" he asked tentatively.

"Ah, _Canada_," France said softly, almost fondly. "I 'ad thought it was merely an old dream of mine, until_ l'Amerique_ reminded me." He turned towards England, meeting his gaze directly. "But I do not remember much, unfortunately. The memories I have are very faint."

Arthur simply nodded, not knowing exactly how to continue. "I think America and Canada..."

France inhaled sharply. "Both suffered the same fate, you believe? 'E just disappeared, as did _l'Amerique._ There are differences, but still..."

"Not quite. Alfred claimed he was seeing Canada in dreams, for a few months before his disappearance. At first, they seemed to shake him quite badly; I remember him being very distraught on a number of occasions." England sighed slightly, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him as he spoke. "In my last meetings with him, he kept saying he...didn't want to deal with this anymore. He was nearly _suicidal_, Francis. He just wanted to be in the dreams. With..._Matthew_."

"'E couldn't 'ave _killed _'imself, _l'Angleterre_._"_ Francis stopped Arthur's train of thought sharply. "We, as people, do not have that luxury. If what you say is true, if he really wanted this...then maybe they are somewhere together. Would that be so bad?" He smiled slightly, grasping England's gloved hand with his own and entwining their fingers together. "Perhaps such intense feeling transcends this existence, _mon cher_."

"Perhaps." England felt an odd feeling rising up within him. _Hope_. The world would never know the fate of the brothers, but Arthur felt himself begin to see the potential truth in Francis' words. "You know what, Frog? I think you might be on to something, there."

Smiling despite himself, Arthur picked up his pace a little. "Come on, I'll make you some tea back at the hotel," he offered, feeling more at ease than he had for months. Chuckling at Francis' grumbling, he almost collided with a couple of young boys in no rain gear except for the brightest red and blue rain boots.

"Slow down!" one called out tearfully to his brother as the other ran boisterously ahead, yelling for the other to catch up.

Arthur stared after them. "Bloody stupid, not clothed properly, and in this weather. Where on Earth are their parents?"

Francis stared in disbelief before laughing in surprise. Shaking his head, he put a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Come on, you promised me tea."

* * *

Hey everyone. I know you all want to murder me, or stopped caring about this story LOOOOONG ago. I don't blame you and I TOTALLY hate when authors do that to me. I _understand completely_. But, I do feel bad. SO BAD. And I just had the hardest time coming up with a decent epilogue. So you guys get this short, sweet little number here. My apologies for the ridiculous wait time. I promise that ALL of my future fics will be typed out in full before I bother to post a thing. Because this was stupid of me and please don't yell at me in the reviews though I totes deserve it guys.

_Because I still love you guys._


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